Reborn in America’s Anti-Terror Unit

"Are you sure about this? Owen, you just got promoted to Field Ops Leader..."

Tony was still trying to dissuade him, but Owen's attitude was firm.

"I've thought it through. This is a rare opportunity—I don't want to miss it. I don't know how long I'll be there, so if you've got someone else in mind, give them the position."

Owen didn't want to let this chance slip by. SEAL selection could last from a few weeks to an entire year depending on one's endurance, but CTU couldn't go that long without a field leader. It wouldn't be fair to just occupy the post indefinitely.

"Alright," Tony nodded. "If you've made your decision, I'll respect it."

Tony understood. He knew exactly how he got the director job—Jack had confided his long-term plans. Jack intended to have Owen train as a Field Ops leader, then eventually move on to command one of the CTU branches.

Given time, Owen would be a peer.

And since this SEAL training opportunity was also something Jack personally secured, Tony didn't interfere. Maybe Jack had bigger plans.

As for the field leader position, Tony fully intended to keep it open for Owen's return. The guy had earned it—he'd saved the current president and the family of the Counterterrorism Bureau's director. Tony didn't think anyone would dare object to leaving it vacant for him.

Owen stored his ID badge in his locker and turned in his sidearm to the gun cabinet—he might be gone a long time, and the locker wasn't secure enough to store a weapon.

"Boys, I'll scout ahead for you..."

"Good luck, man."

"Don't shame CTU."

"Watch your ass—don't let a shark bite it off, ha ha ha!"

All his buddies came up to give him hugs. Owen said goodbye one by one.

"Don't forget to practice your marksmanship. Or else when you get back, you'll just be eating my dust."

"In your dreams. Even if you train another hundred years, you're not beating me."

They were still trash-talking as Owen walked out the door.

This SEAL selection was part of a trial collaboration between Jack Bauer and the Navy SEALs.

Just like how city SWAT units sometimes worked with the Marine Corps, Jack wanted CTU to form a long-term partnership with a military unit that could provide combat training.

Tactical teams and field agents needed continuous updates on new strategies to adapt to increasingly complex operations. LAPD had done this well—they routinely invited Marines to train SWAT on modern tactics and equipment.

Special forces had dedicated units for combat research, constantly developing tactics for extreme conditions. Many of those innovations could be repurposed for SWAT-style urban engagements with just slight tweaks.

The Navy wasn't opposed to such partnerships, especially with Jack Bauer being the president's golden boy at the moment. They were happy to help and build goodwill.

Jack chose the SEALs for good reason. The SEALs and Delta Force were the top two elite units in the U.S. military. SEALs belonged to the Navy, Delta to the Army.

But Jack had burned bridges with certain Army-aligned factions within the interest group, so Delta Force was out. Another benefit of choosing the SEALs was that they had bases on both coasts, which made it easier for CTU branches around the country to receive training.

Owen was headed to the SEAL training facility on the West Coast, right in California—on Coronado Island, just outside San Diego. Specifically, he'd be training at the Navy's Amphibious Base's "Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL" (BUD/S) school.

…

One day later, Owen arrived in San Diego. CTU had already submitted all his paperwork. All he had to do was show up at the designated time and place, and SEAL personnel would escort him into the base.

He wasn't alone—many others were waiting, too. All of them were from different units of the U.S. Navy, either self-enrolled or nominated by their commands, ready to face the brutal selection process.

They didn't know each other, and few people talked.

Soon, a military transport truck pulled up. Everyone boarded. The truck took them to the coast, where they transferred to a landing craft that ferried them to Coronado Island.

On the island, the place was bustling with men who had come for selection. Though it was right here in California, this was a military base—strictly off-limits to civilians and protected from outside view.

No media outlet had ever published pictures of the island's interior. This was Owen's first time seeing it for himself.

The group was taken to a courtyard where each person received a number. Owen's number: 3367.

He looked around. At first glance, it looked like any other base compound. But on the outer wall, there was a sign that read:

"The only easy day was yesterday."

Owen had heard that line before.

Although every candidate was explicitly warned that everything they experienced here was a military secret—not to be shared under any circumstances regardless of whether they passed or failed—some things had still leaked out over the years.

That phrase was one of them.

SEAL selection was famously brutal. Those who failed and returned to their units surely understood that phrase on a soul-deep level.

The only easy day was yesterday.

It served both as a warning and a truth: SEAL training was far more intense than anything they'd known before. Every single day from here on out would be harder than the one before. Only those with iron will would make it.

Their group quickly organized. Everyone received their ID tags. The process was swift and orderly—these were all military men, after all.

Soon, a staff sergeant approached and led them to their barracks.

Owen and the others were grouped into a class of 150 men, divided into five large military tents—30 men per tent. Each man had a bed and a small table.

Nobody paid much attention to the sleeping arrangements. Most of them were staring at the insignia on the sergeant's chest: the SEAL trident.

To earn that symbol was to earn the right to say, I am a Navy SEAL.

The sergeant noticed their hungry gazes but paid them no mind. He had once been just like them—arriving here with dreams. But most of his comrades had washed out. He alone had endured.

He had earned that trident through blood and sweat.

"Alright, rookies. You've got five minutes to rest. Meet outside on the drill field afterward. Trust me—this is your only peaceful moment."

He paused, then added with a smirk, "I wouldn't recommend making friends. People are gonna start getting cut very soon. Also, take a good look at your bed. You'll be making that thing every damn day…"

With that, the sergeant left.

Owen sat on his assigned cot. The bedding wasn't folded into sharp, tofu-brick perfection like back in his previous life's boot camps, but it was tidy, wrinkle-free, and disciplined.

Looking around, every man had just one bed and a small desk. The tent was completely bare otherwise. Clearly, the U.S. Navy still took internal discipline very seriously.

[Check out my Patreon for +200 additional chapters in all my fanfics! Only $5 per novel or $15 for all!!] [[email protected]/Mutter]

[+50 Power Stones = +1 Extra Chapter]

[+5 Reviews = +1 Extra Chapter]