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“Oh no,” Birdie says emphatically. “If she’d hated you, you would have gotten the saccharine sweet Chelsea and never seen the killing blow coming.”
Now, that, I believe. “So, where do I stand then?”
Bash’s teasing grin sobers up quickly. “What do you mean?”
I shrug, surprised by the protective position he seems to be taking. “You’re the one who said I should meet her.”
“Well, yeah. I’d like you to meet a bunch of people, but I wouldn’t expect to see you checking out Knot’s ass. I saw that, by the way.”
Waving him off, I respond, “Is it wrong that I’m interested in your partner? I mean, if she has a problem with it, the woman was Force Recon. I figure she can kick almost anybody’s ass.”
Bash goes quiet for a long breath, which sets off alarm bells in my head. My brows pinch, wondering what he’s thinking. I know he doesn’t have romantic feelings toward Chelsea. His fingers tangled in Birdie’s blond curls are a testament to that. He’s acting like an overprotective brother. “Hey, you know I’ve never mistreated a woman, and based on what we all just saw, I wouldn’t get a chance here anyway.”
My friend shakes his head. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just…we all know that Chelsea’s a badass and that she can handle herself.”
“You hesitated.”
Birdie glances between Bash and me. “We didn’t ask you to hang out to hook you up. But…if you’re interested, Chelsea would not be a mistake. She just has scars like the rest of us.”
Bash looks at Birdie like he has no clue what she’s talking about. I don’t know the woman at all, only what I’ve heard from my friend, the same friend who invited me here tonight, which makes the third-degree I’m receiving all the more confusing.
I nod at Birdie’s advice, figuring she has to be right. Everyone’s got some sort of emotional baggage.
I collapse onto the sand next to Fish, the leader of B Squad in my platoon. We’ve just completed the Body Armor challenge, more commonly known as the Murph. The morning sun is blinding, and I throw my arm across my eyes to block out the light. While I’m sucking wind and trembling, Leo “Skin” Ramsay, the youngest guy in Fish’s squad, laughs beside me. “It ain’t going to get any easier, Pin.”
Getting up to kick Skin’s ass would take more effort than I can manage right now, so I settle for the verbal threat. “And you’ll never make it to admiral if I kill you first.”
“Skin? An admiral? You’ve got to be joking,” Duck, my squad’s medic quips.
I don’t respond, needing to focus instead on getting more oxygen to my lungs. Fish also remains quiet. The truth is, I know Skin is special. Not just him but all the SEALs in Fish’s squad. Those men have bonded in a way my squad never has.
If I have the best platoon in Team Two, it’s because of those guys. My men aren’t losers, but of my original squad, only Brent “Duck” Mallard remains. Christopher “Fish” Hill has had no turnover since our commander gave him the post. If I were honest, I’d have to say I’m jealous. Of what, I don’t know. Lately, I want more from life, and all of Fish’s guys seem to have it.
I drop my arm and scrunch my eyes tight against the brightness overhead. A large form shades my face, and I look to see Gunner “Devil” Murphy standing over me with his hand outstretched. “Time to get back to work. We’ve got formation in twenty.”
I accept the sniper’s hand and let him pull me to my feet, thankful my legs hold me upright. Fish throws his arm across my shoulder, and we support each other’s first steps toward the gym. The rest of the platoon follows, though with our legs feeling like tree trunks, it takes nearly the whole time to get showered, changed, and make the short walk to the field behind base headquarters.
Joint Expeditionary Base Little Creek–Fort Story is an amphibious launch base located in Virginia Beach and is home to SEAL Team Two. I’ve been stationed here my entire SEAL career. Eighteen years.
Commander Timothy “Stone” O’Reilly waits on the back platform of the three-story building as the men from SEAL Team Two line up in formation. The man is a legend who’s beat death more times than I’d care to think about. He’s a hell of a commander and leads like a man who has never forgotten what it is to be in the shit.
“Good morning. For the next four months, platoons from Team Two will rotate deployment to Vaziani Military Base in the Georgian country. Your purpose is two-fold. Number one is to reassure Tbilisi that the US sympathizes with its delicate position against its aggressive Russian neighbors. They don’t want to be the next Ukraine and don’t expect the border mountains to protect them. Your secondary purpose is to assist US military operations in surrounding countries. First and Third Platoons, you’re up first. You stay for instructions. The rest of you are dismissed.”
I lock eyes with Fish as the group breaks up. We’ve had questionable assignments before, but this babysitting job is a first for both of us.
My men march toward the platform with those from First Platoon, gathering close to hear the commander. “You men ship out tomorrow night at nineteen hundred. While your destination is to remain classified, this is not a mission-specific deployment, meaning you can tell your families when to expect you back. I’ll have your flight details after training tomorrow. Dismissed.”
We stand at attention and salute the commander. He returns the gesture and disappears inside. Duck claps me on the shoulder and shakes his head. “Never a dull day in Little Creek.”
He walks away with several others, but Fish and his squad hang around, noticing I’m not leaving. “What’s on your mind, Pin?” Fish asks.
“I’m just wondering. Us being on call. Who for?”
Nolan “Judge” Lockmore, a lawyer and the wisest of us, scratches the back of his head. “I think I can answer that, unofficially, of course. The word is that all branches are deploying extra people all over the place. Georgia is just a convenient excuse for us.”
Fish eyes the JAG lawyer-turned-SEAL. “An excuse for what?”
Extra hands. On call. Last night’s conversation with Bash and his people comes to mind. “The Pentagon is under pressure and has scaled back the use of military contractors. We’re replacing them.”
