Chapter 3 – Hell Begins at Fort Bragg
Fort Bragg, North Carolina – October 1992
The biting North Carolina wind blew strongly that morning, carrying with it the smell of wet earth and the pine trees surrounding the base. Fort Bragg was a legendary place among United States Army soldiers, known for forging elite warriors.
Jason Gibbs stood with other candidates, his combat uniform already marked by the fine dust of the uneven terrain. The sun hadn't even fully risen yet, and the formation of soldiers seemed only a shadow in the weak morning light. He adjusted the strap of his M16A2 rifle on his shoulder, feeling the familiar weight of the weapon, and took a deep breath.
The Special Forces Assessment and Selection (SFAS) was about to begin.
SFAS was one of the most brutal training programs in the Army, designed to test not only the physical endurance of the candidates, but also their intelligence, leadership ability, and, above all, their willpower.
24 days of hell.
Jason knew that the number of dropouts would be high. Many of the men around him wouldn't make it to the end. But he had no doubts. He would make it.
Day 1 – The Beginning of the Trial
A tall, muscular drill sergeant walked slowly in front of the group. He wore an olive-green patrol cap and had a face marked by scars and years of experience. His gaze assessed the candidates with disdain.
— Welcome to SFAS — he said, his deep voice echoing across the field. — Do you think you're ready for this?
Silence.
The sergeant smiled wryly.
— What a joke. Let's see how many of you are still here in a week.
Jason kept his gaze fixed, impassive. He had already expected this kind of approach. Basic training and AIT had already shown him how the Army worked. Now it was another level.
— First exercise — the sergeant continued. — The Initial Physical Test. Let's see what you're made of.
The candidates were led to an open area of the training field, where the instructors gave clear orders:
— 5-mile run in under 40 minutes.
— 52 push-ups in 2 minutes.
— 62 sit-ups in 2 minutes.
— 6 complete pull-ups.
Jason already knew what to expect. Without hesitation, he dropped into position alongside the other men and began the series of exercises. Sweat streamed down his forehead as he reached the last push-ups, his muscles burning, but his mind remained focused.
The run was the most difficult part for some candidates. The uneven terrain, with its ups and downs, made the task even more exhausting. Jason maintained a steady pace, his lungs burning with each breath, but he didn't stop.
When he crossed the finish line, he saw that some were already giving up. Two soldiers were kneeling on the ground, struggling to breathe. One of them raised his hand.
— Sergeant, I quit.
The instructor didn't even blink. He simply gestured for an assistant to note the soldier's number and ordered him to leave.
One less.
Jason just closed his eyes for a second, catching his breath. This was only the beginning.
Day 4 – The "Hell Week"
The first few days passed in a blur of exhaustion and superhuman effort.
The candidates had less than four hours of sleep a night and spent their days being pushed to the limit with physical exercises, runs carrying backpacks weighing over 30 kilos, tracking through dense forest, and endless land navigation sessions.
The worst was the food deprivation. Meals were minimal, and the instructors frequently reduced the portions even further, forcing the candidates to function while hungry.
That night, Jason was sitting on the hard ground, trying to warm his hands against the biting cold. Beside him, a soldier named Cooper, a tall man from Texas, breathed deeply, fighting against the fatigue. — This is insane — Cooper muttered, looking at Jason. — I've never been so hungry in my life.
Jason gave a small smile.
— It's intentional. They want to see who can function without food, without sleep, without comfort.
Cooper let out a weak laugh.
— Well, I guess they're succeeding.
Across the field, an instructor was yelling at a group still doing push-ups in the mud. Some groaned in pain, others simply collapsed.
Jason narrowed his eyes. There was still a long way to go.
Day 12 – The Endurance Test
The next phase of SFAS involved simulated long-duration missions, where candidates had to walk absurd distances carrying heavy equipment, navigating only by maps and compasses.
Jason was in the middle of an 18-mile (about 29 km) march across the uneven terrain of Fort Bragg. His boots were soaked with mud, and his shoulders burned under the weight of his backpack.
Beside him, Cooper was panting, his face sweaty and exhausted.
— Tell me why we even signed up for this crap?
Jason smiled, despite the pain in his legs.
— Because we're idiots.
Cooper let out a laugh, but immediately fell silent when an instructor appeared out of nowhere.
— ARE YOU FINDING THIS FUNNY, GENTLEMEN?!
— No, sir! — the two replied in unison, straightening their posture.
The instructor observed them for a moment before continuing to walk.
Jason took a deep breath and continued the march.
He wasn't going to stop now.
Day 24 – The Last Challenge
The final phase of SFAS was the famous "Long Walk," a 30-mile (48 km) individual march carrying over 50 kilograms of equipment.
The candidates departed alone, one by one, with only a map, a compass, and a final destination. No watches. No knowing how much time had passed.
Jason began his march before sunrise. The world around him was dark, and the only light came from the moon and stars.
Every step was a challenge. His legs burned, his feet throbbed inside his boots, and the weight of the backpack pulled his shoulders back like an anchor.
But he continued.
At a certain point, he felt his mind begin to shut down. The extreme fatigue was like a fog in his head. Time seemed distorted.
He began to think of his father.
Leroy Jethro Gibbs.
His serious face. His firm gaze. The lessons he had taught him.
"Keep going, Jay. Don't stop."
Jason gritted his teeth and pressed on.
Hours later, when he finally spotted the finish line, he felt a wave of relief.
He had made it.
Fort Bragg – After SFAS
Of the more than 300 candidates, only about 90 had passed.
Jason was among them.
When he received his official notification of selection for the Q-Course (Special Forces Qualification Course), he felt a mixture of exhaustion and pride.
The sergeant instructor handed him the paper and looked him in the eyes.
— You passed, Gibbs.
Jason took a deep breath and nodded. — Yes, sir.
The instructor smiled wryly.
— But don't get used to it. The worst is yet to come.
Jason clutched the paper in his hands.
He already knew that.
And he was ready.
Chapter 4 – The Youngest Operator
Fort Bragg, North Carolina – April 1993
The sun was strong that afternoon, casting sharp shadows across the parade ground at Fort Bragg. United States and Special Forces flags fluttered in the wind, while dozens of soldiers, family members, and high-ranking officers were gathered for a rare moment: the graduation of another select group of United States Army Special Forces operators.
Among them was Jason Gibbs.
19 years old.
The youngest Special Forces operator to complete the Qualification Course (Q-Course).
His impeccable uniform bore the insignia he had earned with blood, sweat, and pain. But the most important thing was about to be presented at that moment: the Special Forces Tab.
Jason stood at attention alongside the other soldiers who had completed the course. His heart pounded, but his face remained impassive, trained to hide any emotion. He had already been through hell and back – this was just the final step.
In front of the formation, a Special Forces colonel walked slowly, holding a clipboard.
— Today, gentlemen, you become something more than soldiers. You are now Green Berets. This is not just a title. It is a commitment. It is a burden. It is a responsibility that few have the capacity to bear.
The colonel paused, looking directly at Jason for a moment before continuing.
— Each of you has gone through challenges that most men will never face. You have been pushed to your physical and mental limits, tested in ways that cannot be described. But you persevered. And because of that, today, you become part of the elite of the United States Armed Forces.
Jason maintained his firm posture, but felt a shiver run down his spine upon hearing those words.
Then, one by one, the soldiers were called forward to receive the Special Forces Tab.
When the name "Gibbs, Jason" echoed through the loudspeakers, he stepped forward. The colonel pinned the olive-green tab to the shoulder of his uniform and looked him in the eyes.
— Congratulations, Operator.
Jason saluted.
— Thank you, sir.
As he turned to rejoin the formation, his eyes scanned the crowd and found Leroy Jethro Gibbs.
His father was there, standing with his hands in the pockets of his black jacket, his blue eyes as steady as ever. Beside him, another man watched the ceremony with a satisfied smile.
Mike Franks.
After the ceremony ended, Jason finally had the chance to approach the two men who had most influenced his life.
Gibbs looked his son up and down, assessing him with that look Jason knew well.
— You look different — Gibbs said.
Jason smiled wryly.
— That's what happens when you spend a year being tortured by the Army.
Mike Franks chuckled, lighting a cigarette.
— Welcome to the club, kid. You survived SFAS, went through the Q-Course… and now you're officially a Green Beret. Not everyone can do that.
Jason looked at him with respect. Franks was a legend within NCIS and the Armed Forces. He had seen a lot.
— And what comes next? — Jason asked.
Gibbs crossed his arms.
— Now you'll find out what it really means to be in Special Forces.
Jason nodded. He knew that graduation was just a milestone. The real mission began now.
During the Q-Course, Jason had to choose a language specialization. He chose Pashto.
The decision wasn't random. He had been studying geopolitical patterns for years and knew that the next major conflict would come from the Middle East. He wanted to be prepared.
The specialization was intense. For months, he lived almost exclusively immersed in the culture and language, training with native speakers and studying dialects.
In addition, he became an 18F – Operations and Intelligence Assistant. This meant that his role in an Operational Detachment Alpha (ODA) would be crucial. He would not only be a combat operator, but also analyze intelligence, lead tactical operations, and coordinate covert actions.
His destiny was already set: the 5th Special Forces Group.
Fort Campbell, Kentucky – May 1993
Jason was at the headquarters of the 5th Special Forces Group (Airborne), reading his new assignment badge.
The 5th Group was focused on the Middle East, Central Asia, and North Africa. They were the first to be deployed to conflicts in the region.
His team leader, a veteran Major named David "Iron" Callahan, walked up to him and extended his hand.
"You're Gibbs, right?"
Jason shook the officer's firm hand.
"Yes, sir."
Callahan nodded, crossing his arms.
"I heard you're the youngest operator to graduate."
"Apparently so, sir."
The major smiled wryly.
"That means you're either very well, either he's too stupid to know when to quit.
Jason smiled.
— Probably a little of both.
Callahan laughed.
— Great. You'll fit right in here.
He pointed to a map on the wall, where several regions of the Middle East were marked.
— Listen, Gibbs. We're entering a new era. Things in the Persian Gulf are far from over. If I had to bet, I'd say that in a few years we'll be up to our necks in the Middle East.
Jason looked at the map.
— I know. That's why I chose Pashto.
Callahan raised an eyebrow, visibly impressed.
— Smart. That will be useful.
He turned and picked up an envelope.
— Here are your orders. Your ODA team is already assembled. We start joint training in two weeks.
Jason took the envelope and nodded.
— Ready to begin, sir.
Callahan smiled.
— Then welcome to the 5th Group, Gibbs. Now we're going to turn you into a true Special Forces warrior.
Jason took a deep breath and looked at the map again.
He knew his journey was just beginning.
And he was ready.
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