The wind that came off the Atlantic that morning had teeth. It wasn’t a breeze; it was a hard, scouring force that snapped across the open-air corridors of Naval Special Warfare Command Unit 7, carrying the briny scent of the deep and the faint, metallic tang of diesel from the destroyers moored in the distance. It was barely 0800, but the sun was already winning its war with the coastal mist, burning it away to a haze that turned the horizon into a blinding sheet of glare….CONTINUE READING IN BELOW
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