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Talon Burke and HonorBull
I'm not sure where to start exactly; boot camp feels like an option, but I never saw it as the beginning. With that said, let me share a bit about myself.
My name is Talon Miles Burke, and I grew up in Tacoma, Washington. My parents moved there from the Houston, Texas area when they were young adults. When I was about 19 or 20—it's a bit hazy—I moved back to Texas to reconnect with my family and figure out my direction in life. I juggled multiple jobs while exploring my options. During this time, I was introduced to my uncle's co-workers on the NBL (Neutral Buoyancy Lab) dive team, which included some remarkable individuals who had spent years in the Navy. They inspired me to get into better shape and encouraged me to enlist. With their help, I embraced barefoot running and calisthenics because, like many others, I wanted to be a badass with a badass job.
Fast forward a few months, and I was off to boot camp with an HM-ATF contract for six years. This contract allowed us to qualify for three different pipelines: Search and Rescue, Dive Medic Technician, and Special Amphibious Recon Corpsman. Naturally, we all wanted to pursue the Recon Corpsman route because it was the most challenging. Training at dawn in San Antonio was tough but rewarding. The standard was a 6-minute and 30-second mile and a half, and it was never easy. I felt like a fish out of water, and one day, my shin splints—common but manageable—ultimately led to a fracture. I described the sensation as a "pop." Two fellow trainees helped carry me to the cadres, and after being sent to medical, I spent weeks on bed rest with a painkiller cocktail. That marked the end of my route to being a Recon Corpsman.
Instead, I was presented with a new opportunity and became an Aviation Electronics Technician, working on MH-60R "Seahawk" helicopters. The irony of being from the Seattle/Tacoma area and working on Seahawks was not lost on me.
I did not enlist in the Navy to work on helicopters. During this transition, I gained weight, developed a poor walking style that damaged my feet, and adopted a negative attitude. I didn't see aviation as part of the "real" military. My dreams revolved around action and adventure—not maintaining aircraft. I was focused on completing my job and going home, which I did. I watched as many of my friends were dropped from different phases of the pipelines, with only a few making it through. One of my friends succeeded and is still serving. Sadly, I witnessed others die—every corpsman who has died in the last five years was either in my class or training group. We would drink to their memory and wish it had been us. They succeeded in their missions while we were scattered across the world, performing maintenance and watching from afar.
When I arrived at my squadron, it was the peak of COVID. I fell ill and was quarantined for two months, vomiting blood multiple times a day. It was initially dismissed as COVID. My leadership thought I was faking illness to avoid work, and I faced significant criticism until I collapsed and vomited blood on the flight line beside a spinning helicopter. It then began a long journey of ER visits and medical appointments before it was discovered that I had a bacterial infection from galley food that was on its way to becoming cancer. It severely damaged my stomach lining and part of my intestinal lining, leading to an esophageal hernia; surgery may still be necessary. I wish I had a happy ending for this chapter, but it has become something that is considered “normal” in my life.
The Navy aviation community sees many dropouts like me—BUDS dropouts, aircrew dropouts, and more from Special Warfare training. Eventually, we have to stop wallowing in self-pity and simply do our jobs. I was good at my job—I was a competent electrical technician, and people told me so. Once I realized this, I began to appreciate the amazing experiences around me. I witnessed flying fish skimming across the aircraft carrier's waves, shared laughter with people in our squadron, and realized that we all carry our own burdens. It was a beautiful display of humanity.
I deployed on the George H.W. Bush CVN 77 with Air Wing 7 from 2021 to 2022. It was the best deployment anyone in the Navy could ask for: Greece, Croatia, Spain, Italy, and France. I enjoyed some of the best food imaginable, saw breathtaking mountains and cliffs, and connected with remarkable people over simple things. One unforgettable moment involved the last of the "Hamsters," also known as chicken cordon bleu. When they were removed from the Navy's menu midway through deployment, it evoked deep emotions from seasoned sailors. I doubt I will ever witness so many grown men and women stirred to tears over a frozen piece of chicken again. These seemingly insignificant moments bonded us and created a sense of family among us. In those day-to-day experiences lay the depth of our humanity.
In February 2022, I was relieved of duty and flown off the ship early due to a red cross letter. I needed to care for my family during a critical time, which began my journey as a veteran. My wife, daughter, and I moved to Oklahoma to support her grandmother during her final months. While there, we were blessed with a son. However, we realized that home was in Washington, and we returned. Since then, I have struggled with my mental and physical health. While my story may not seem extraordinary on the surface, it is mine, and I have learned to embrace that. I used to joke that I was a "decorated wartime disabled veteran," but it is no longer a joke.
Receiving Honorbull and meeting everyone involved with Forgotten Dogs 4 Forgotten Vets has validated my self-view and given me the confidence to embrace my status without apology. I am excited to continue working with them and learning from their experiences.