A SEAL at Heart (10 page)

Being in the military meant operating in the dark to some degree, though Teammates had always found a way to help each other and watch each other’s back. He had to know what had happened and what was truly going on.

Gerry Knotts nodded. “Let me meet-and-greet and then I’ll hit the pond. Say… two hours. Wait, better make it three.”

“That works,” said Jack. They shook hands, and then Gerry disappeared down the stairs.

Congregating covertly in the ocean was significantly less conspicuous than aiming for a chat downtown. The only creatures that would be able to overhear them would have either feathers or fins.

Looking around the room, he contemplated what he could do for three hours. Going down to the cages to organize his gear would only make him long for deployment. So would target practice. There was no one he really wanted to talk to, and going back to his apartment to stare at four empty walls just plain sucked.

Setting his sights on the couch tucked against the far wall where Gerry’s manual lay, he strode over and sat down. Picking up the book, he looked at the title. It was the latest updated manual on their grenade launchers. “I bet you still shot them off-target, Gerry.”

Tossing the manual aside, he lay down. Pain spiked the back of his skull, and he dug a pain pill out of his pocket. He hated the stuff, but if he could go horizontal for a short time, it might be worth it.

He closed his eyes, forcing his body to relax. The pump of adrenaline that had been surging through his body eased off an inch at a time.

Stretching his legs out so they balanced over the far armrest, he laid his forearm over his eyes and told his body to go to sleep—a SEAL trick that usually worked, though as of late…

His training had taught him how to conquer a lot. He could do it all, except fill those memory holes… so far.

***

The images were hazy. He squinted at them, the SEALs that had passed from this earth were gathered on the beach before him. Chills raced up his spine.

The
day
was
stormy
and
the
ocean
was
tumultuous. Waves crashed hard on the shore, sending up massive amounts of foam to bathe his legs and feet. He stood on the curling cusp until his toes were icy and gooseflesh climbed his legs. But he’d endured worse on this spot—Hell Week—and he was capable of doing it again. Lightning arced overhead like a fireworks display, showing the faces of men suddenly standing before him. There were gaping wounds on some of the bodies and frozen expressions on faces. These cracked dolls were otherwise perfect, and yet not uniform. A couple of guys were dressed in whites, their ice cream suits bedazzled with medals, and on top of all that glory was a shiny trident. It practically glowed on their chests.

Others
were
wearing
black
BDUs. He preferred those… so he could fade into the nighttime shadows. A few wore the old blue Navy digital fatigues with the horrible nickname of blueberries. They’d get slammed for being out of uniform, since the SEALs now had their own Special Ops digi design and everyone was supposed to have switched over.

But
blood
seeped
through
the
fabric, spreading like some ghastly nightmare. He rushed toward them, to aid these men somehow.

“We are gathered here to weigh the crimes of our brother, Red Jack. What say you?” His CO’s voice, the one who was killed by a drunk driver a few years back, boomed over the area. The man had been an extra dad to them all, and had been known as Jiffy, because no matter what, he arrived quickly.

What
did
he
say? Oh Fuck! Were they here for him? He stopped in his tracks.

“Roaker, I’m sad for you, son,” said Jiffy. Then his voiced boomed out, “Attention!”

Jack’s back went arrow straight as his whole body responded to the command.

Thunder
boomed
as
lightning
cracked
again, showing all the great and decorated men before them multiplying into an even larger force. So many faces, and yet he knew in his heart that these were the heroes of the Teams.

A
fine
mist
fell
from
the
sky, making it surreal. This had to be a joke! No one did this. Yet the intensity was almost blinding as his SEAL brothers pulsated with color. Their faces contorted into masks of ferocity. Bolts of lightning sliced across the sky as they stepped toward him.

Jack
did
not
move—though he knew he’d been singled out.

Standing
parallel
was
the
CO, who was reading from a sheet of paper. The edges fluttered in the wind and seemed to stretch on for at least a mile. The drone of Jiffy’s voice went on forever. Words such as
unworthy
,
traitor
,
failed your Teammates
,
dishonor
, and
coward
made
Jack’s neck move with whiplash speed.

Had
he
heard
the
words
correctly?

“In all our years as a Team, we have had only rare occasion to do what we’re doing today. You will be stripped from our ranks. Petty Officer John Matthew Roaker—Red Jack—today is the day you died in our eyes. We are disappointed in you and your dishonor.”

The
CO
ripped
the
trident
from
Jack’s uniform, and then he opened Jack’s shirt and plunged his hand into his chest, dislodging the symbol branded on his heart.

The
gaping
hole
spilled
life
from
his
chest
and
there
was
no
way
to
close
it.

“Say good-bye to the civilian,” ordered Jiffy.

Jack’s mouth was open, the horror holding him in shocked silence.

As
one, his brothers turned away and began to fade.

God, he would rather be dead then this… dishonor. His spirit was draining out of his body. He was losing himself one chunk at a time. “I’m disappointed in you son. Good-bye, John. Matthew. Roaker.” And then Jiffy was gone, too.

Tears
streamed
down
Jack’s face, falling unhindered into the sand. They disappeared in the hundreds of grains below him as his world lost cohesion. The SEALs, they were his entire world—

The
final
warrior, standing tall and strong, was Don. He knelt beside him and grabbed his shoulder. “I love you, my brother. I know it’s not your fault. It’s up to you to fix this. Solve it before it’s too late.”

***

Waking abruptly, Jack sat bolt upright and then stood. His body was covered in sweat and his heart raced. He scanned the area, looking for threats. What had awakened him? No one else was inside the room. He checked his watch. It was almost time to meet Gerry.

“Shit!” he said to himself, remembering the nightmare. He rubbed his hands over his face and eyes, and then over his stubbly head. “Screw the pain pills.”

Fingers found the healing injury at the back of his skull. Like an optimist rubbing a lamp, he silently prayed he would find the rest of the answers to his memory block, and that it wouldn’t show dishonor. “Tell me it’s not fucking true!” But doubt was a ravenous creature and ready to devour his sanity. He couldn’t allow it to take a foothold.

The room suddenly felt incredibly stuffy and smelly; he craved fresh air and sunlight.

He kicked at a pair of shoes near the couch. “Damn foot odor.” Yet it was oddly reassuring, too. The smell was his and everyone’s in Alfa. This was home, and it was hard to escape that fact. The best thing he could do was concentrate on the tangible.

Undoubtedly, everyone was out on the O course, in the gym, or home reuniting with his family post Op. It was time for him to leave the nest, too. This was just an empty room with the memorabilia on the walls marking memories of men like him who walked the journey and lived their best for the Teams. They had courage, fortitude, and never gave up. Neither would he.

In a minute he was out the door, down the hall, and to the stairwell, where he took the stairs two at a time. Then he was through the front door and outside.

Heat and salty air smacked his face. Turning away from the wind, he felt tiny grains of sand pelting the back of his head.

Stopping at his Jeep, he pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the backseat. He fished around on the floor and found a pair of dry swim shorts and a towel. Like a thousand times before, he unlaced his boots. Ditching the leather, regulation-issue size elevens and his socks on the backseat, he wrapped the towel around his waist, dropped his pants, and pulled on his swim shorts. Laying the towel over the passenger seat to heat in the sun would guarantee a toasty wrap upon his return.

Once that was done, he headed for the pond, relishing the gritty sand beneath his feet. His body longed for the ocean, the waves, the buoyancy and freedom of movement.

Pushing into a light jog, he headed around the buildings, pumped a couple of salutes as officers passed, and then opened his stride when he hit the long strip of beach. Digging into the sand with his toes, he bounced up, gaining his rhythm. Pounding through the heat, he welcomed the sweat as it glazed his body with warmth and chased away the demons.

Knotts was already standing on the sandbar, waiting for him. It looked like the man was doing some kind of water ballet with his arms. Jack had to hide his smile as he made his way to him.

Jack reached the ocean quickly. His feet smacked the cool water and he kept running until he saw a wave, and then he dove into it—aiming his body downward and missing the undertow. He knew this stretch of seafloor like the back of his hand, and unless something had changed drastically, there would be a nice deep groove here where he could swim straight out and gain the far sandbar.

Everything was exactly as he remembered it. The water was clear and happily free of seaweed. Popping up on top of the water, he took a breath and then swam easily to where Gerry lingered.

“Took you long enough. I’m missing my beauty sleep. Though I had a very nice homecoming.” Gerry winked and then laughed. His legs were moving as he treaded water and then stood. Give a SEAL a choice between standing and moving, and action would always be the choice—activity birthed options.

Jack quipped back, “Beauty? Let me look closer. Yep, your skin has never looked so pasty.”

“Funny, Roaker.” The man had seen some hospital time and was pale as linguine. But Gerry had been in and out, and then shipped to D.C. and Virginia for chats with the Admiral’s Staff and a bunch of other people. That much he knew. Everyone wanted the details on the last mission. Only fuckups and great successes got this much attention. Either way, he felt screwed.

“I didn’t know that the prune texture was my look.” Spitting a mouthful of water in Jack’s direction, Gerry said, “Shit, this needs to be beer. I’d give anything to bathe in a vat of beer for a week. Do you think we could talk a local microbrewery into letting us do that? Maybe Karl Strauss or Coronado Brewery—I can drink a ton of it. Hey, they could write it off as a tax donation to the troops.”

“Sounds good to me. It’d keep spirits up.” Jack’s comment made both the men laugh.

When they were both quiet again, Jack said, “Hey, thanks for meeting me.”

“Yeah.” Gerry looked away, his eyes scanning the beach and water. “Surf sucks. We haven’t had any good waves for a while.”

“Nope. Look, Knotts, what happened? It’s not too late to give me the highlights.” Jack dunked his head under and then shook it free of water.
Damn, it feels good to be in the ocean, like Momma’s womb.
He was hoping it made Gerry relax, too. Might be too wishful a thought. The man could be immovable when he wanted to be.

“What part of ‘I’m not supposed to talk to you’ don’t you understand? Not so fucking bright, are you? The brass will
not
take lightly to a beer and barbecue social with a side of Intel.” Gerry winked at him. “That being said, let me say this quick.”

Relief surged through Jack. He knew he’d be able to count on his friend Gerry Knotts.

“I remember opening my eyes and seeing you lifting Duncan into the helicopter. Next you hoisted Chalmers, Billings, and then I saw you grab Seeley and Pickens. You did me a solid by helping my ass and getting me to cover. Fuck, you saved us, Jack. You are a fucking hero! Bullets were pinging against the helicopter, and then we’re all in and the door’s slammed shut. The copter took off and everything went black.” Blocking first one nostril, then the other, Gerry blew snot out of his nose and wiped the excess with his fingers.

“Here are the shits! The brass is trying to figure out how we walked into an ambush without seeing any signs of the trap. I’ve told them about a hundred times, all I know is you got us all in the whirlybird safely. Blood’s dripping out of the back of your head, and everyone’s pretty much laid out flat.”

There was no usable data in that info dump. Could he prod Knotts to go further and share more with him? Jack urged his buddy to elaborate. “What else? Any details?”

“It was so fucking dreamlike! I remember the sound of RPGs whistling through the air and not striking that close to us, which, given the cloud the copter was kicking up, they couldn’t have missed. Aim right here, you assholes!” Gerry turned his head to the side and knocked water out of his ears.