I had the honor of being Mark’s platoon commander at SEAL Team Five from 1997-1999.  We became good friends during that time and I was proud to have him at my wedding in ’99.  I’m not exaggerating when I say that he was one of the anchors of the platoon… a rare breed, even among SEAL operators.  In addition to being one of the more experienced guys in the platoon, and the best surfer, he was our lead communicator, possibly the most critical role in a SEAL platoon- responsible for ensuring that wherever we were- whether in the arctic (yes we were there), or in the rugged mountains along the Korean DMZ (there too), or some tiny island in the Pacific (there too) or on the front lines in the Middle East (yep), that we always had good radio contact with our supporting aircraft or boats, and satellite and computer communications back to headquarters.  When you’re a small team behind enemy lines, your only life-line to any type of help is your communicator. Obviously this job required a huge amount of technical expertise, but most don’t realize it also entails tremendous physical effort.  Because we’re so often on our feet, slogging through the snow or up a mountainside, how much we carry is always an issue of contention.  And 2 guys in particular are loaded down like mules: the heavy machine gunner (who’s carrying a huge weapon along with thousands of rounds of ammo), and the communicator (carrying at least 2, sometimes 3 radios, at 20lbs a piece, plus a ruggedized computer, plus several antennas, plus numerous batteries called ‘bricks’, plus his own gear and weapons and ammunition.)

To illustrate a standard job for Mark: right before we deployed we had to pass a graded training mission off the coast of Alaska.  After several days of preparation, with little sleep during those busy days, in late afternoon we embarked on one of our high-speed boats for a 6 hour hammering ride through rough seas.  Finally we launched in our small rubber Zodiacs which brought us closer to our insertion point.  After a 30 minute swim in the icy water, towing our 100lb rucks and weapons, we made it through pounding surf to shore, only to then scale massive cliffs, at night, with Mark hauling the heaviest equipment.  Reaching the top of the cliffs we then were able to patrol to our target, 6 miles inland.  Throughout this grueling approach- just to reach our objective, we welcomed any chance to stop and rest for awhile.  Unfortunately, while the rest of us sat down and maybe pulled out something to eat, Mark had to pull out his communications gear, check in with our support craft, then figure out the correct bearing and azimuth to the satellite- and type out an encrypted message to headquarters and receive any additional instructions.  Plus he was almost always doing this at night, usually in bitter cold or rain or snow, and sometimes having to climb a tree to get the satellite dish in a good line-of-sight position.  But Mark never failed, and even though we were back on our feet and moving the second he packed everything up, he never once complained. 

Many times I thanked God for Mark- and this was before I became a Christian.  He was always unflappable, always on top of things, never complaining, always upbeat and ready for anything.  The nicest guy in the world but tough as nails.  I later came to realize that a big reason he was different was his Christian faith.  He was down to earth, easy going, but at the same time his actions were without reproach, both on and off the job.  I’ve had several friends who were killed in the past 6 years, but hearing about Mark hit me particularly hard.  He was a great man, a shining light in a dark world, and will be missed.