Reborn in America’s Anti-Terror Unit

As the instructor finished speaking, everyone turned to look at the bell. He'd made it crystal clear—training ahead would be grueling beyond imagination. Ringing that bell meant freedom, yes, but also meant giving up the chance to become a Navy SEAL.

Right now, no one was even thinking of ringing that bell.

But Owen's focus wasn't on the bell. The instructor was still up there barking, "The BUD/S phase will last approximately seven months—28 weeks. During these 28 weeks, I'm not here to train you. I'm here to kill you. I want you to understand—not just anyone can become a SEAL. If you're a coward, you better quit now…"

The instructor's tone was harsh and unlikable, but Owen listened closely. Despite how grating the guy was, Owen hoped to glean useful information from his words.

BUD/S would last 28 weeks. That was a long time.

Owen had heard the term BUD/S before—Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training. It was split into three phases: physical conditioning, diving, and land warfare. This phase was said to have the highest dropout rate. Most never made it to the end.

"From now until BUD/S ends, we won't cut a single one of you. The only way out is for you to ring that bell yourself…"

The instructor wrapped up and dismissed the group. They'd been at it all afternoon, but nobody was tired—they were still riding the adrenaline of day one.

Training would officially begin tomorrow.

Before leaving, the instructor pointed out which areas they were allowed to roam freely, and told them when dinner would be served. Most of the group headed back to their tents.

Their white shirts instantly marked them as trainees. SEALs they passed along the way looked at them with smirks, eyes full of mockery—because they knew most of these eager faces would be gone soon.

Back in the tents, the guys lay down on their cots. It wasn't long before chatter broke out.

"Hey fellas, where you all from? I'm David Poole, Third Fleet, stationed right here in San Diego."

"Lucky you. Right next to home. I'm Albert Douglas, Second Fleet, Norfolk."

"East Coast to West Coast? That's a haul. I'm Harrison, also Third Fleet—used to work on carriers as ground crew. I transferred recently. Guess where I'm stationed now? Hawaii."

"Damn, bro! Hawaii's paradise—wall-to-wall bikinis!"

The group of guys near Owen quickly veered off from talking about the Navy to talking about women—proving men are the same everywhere.

"You, man—where you from?" one of them asked, looking at Owen.

"Me? I'm from California."

"San Diego Port? Or China Lake Naval Air Station?" the guy clearly knew the area.

"Nope. Neither. I'm not Navy. I'm CTU—Counter Terrorist Unit. I'm not like you guys."

"Whoa!" a chorus of surprised shouts erupted.

"We got a non-Navy guy in SEAL selection? Bro, tell us—how'd you get in? You the Secretary of Defense's nephew or something?"

Laughter followed. The others leaned in, clearly interested. SEALs only accepted active-duty Navy personnel. That was an ironclad tradition.

Seeing he had the group's attention, Owen didn't hide anything. He gave them a rough explanation—how this was part of a pilot program between CTU and the SEALs.

"No way! So you're a special agent? Damn, that's a badass job. Wait—does this mean if I make it, I might end up training CTU operatives?" Albert said excitedly.

"First, you've gotta actually make it," someone shot back. "Then you can worry about being someone's instructor."

"Please—I've got this," Albert said smugly.

Laughter filled the tent again, and the group grew more comfortable. Before long, the topic drifted back to women.

David proudly pulled out a picture of his girlfriend—a curvy blonde bombshell, supposedly a model. It made sense.

The others quickly followed suit, showing off their significant others. Owen couldn't help but suspect Douglas's photo was actually of his sister.

Still, Owen wasn't left out—thankfully he'd brought a picture of Monica. That saved him from being mistaken for a poor, lonely bachelor.

Once the boasting died down, the talk returned to training.

"Hey, anyone know what we're really in for next?" someone asked.

Owen stayed quiet. Of everyone here, he was probably the least informed. But he was sure someone would know.

Sure enough, David Poole chimed in. "I've got some intel. I'm stationed in San Diego, and I've picked up a lot over time."

"Spill it, man!"

Others perked up. Even guys from across the tent wandered over. More than half the thirty-man tent was now clustered around.

"We're about to start the first phase of BUD/S—Physical Conditioning. It lasts about seven weeks. The first three weeks are intro training, focused mostly on building endurance."

David continued, "It's to prepare us for what comes next. The intro weeks include some BUD/S routines, but they're more of a warm-up."

"The last four weeks are the real deal. The final week of those four? That's Hell Week. That's when at least half of us will drop out."

"Pfft, that's common knowledge. Give us something we don't know," someone interrupted.

The intel wasn't new to most, but for Owen, it was valuable. He quietly memorized every detail.

David didn't mind the skepticism. "Alright, here's something you don't know."

He looked around dramatically. "You probably didn't realize this—but the assessment already started the moment we saw our instructors."

Everyone went silent.

David continued, "Every instructor scores you from day one. You might already be cut—and just don't know it yet. You might make it to the end and still leave empty-handed."

Owen's eyes widened. From the looks on some faces, others were hearing this for the first time too.

"Where'd you hear that?" someone asked.

David hopped off his bunk and waved a finger. "My two older brothers both went through SEAL selection. Neither made it. They told me that themselves."

"As for the standards they use to cut us? I don't know exactly. But I do know they value teamwork—especially when you don't know each other yet. Working as a unit, even among strangers—that's a big deal here."

The group nodded in agreement. Americans valued team spirit. Failing to demonstrate that was almost a guaranteed ticket out.

"There's one more thing my brother told me…"

The group leaned in, hanging on every word. They knew this was the good part—the kind of insight that only came from failing firsthand.

Owen kept quiet but listened like his life depended on it.

"Throughout training, instructors will try to break us—mentally, physically. They'll push us past our limits. They'll humiliate us, shake our confidence, even tell us to quit.

And when that moment comes—you have to push through. Understand their goal. They're not here to insult us. They want to find out your mental limit.

More than your body, they care about what's in your head. Only those with real mental toughness make it to the end.

But—my brother also said—knowing this won't help much. Because when that despair hits you, when your body's finished and your spirit is breaking… quitting will feel like the easiest thing in the world."

Silence followed. Everyone fell into their own thoughts.

For the first time since arriving, the weight of what they were about to endure truly settled in.

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[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]