Page 43 of Loving a Warrior

He watched as a handful of men refused to get wet and turned to head toward the vans idling nearby. To Matt’s horror one of them was Elias, Shane’s roommate.

“No!” Matt staggered out of the surf and charged after him. “You don’t want to do this, not again! Not after we lost Hov!” He grabbed Elias’s arm. “Finish out the day, man. It’s just wet and sandy. We’ve done it a million times. C’mon, you can do it.”

A couple of instructors saw what was happening and ordered them into the water or else.

“Hooyah!” Matt flung himself into the surf, watching sadly as Elias and the others were whisked away. As the long night wore on, the number of boat crews continued to shrink until there were only three.

Eighteen men left out of forty-seven.

Somehow the last eighteen hung on, through the all-night paddle on Thursday followed by an early morning four-mile run with their boats above their heads on Friday. Matt forced himself to finish strong in each evolution, because that usually meant a chance to get warm, either by being allowed to change into dry clothes or getting to drink some hot chicken broth.

It pays to be a winner.

By the time Friday afternoon rolled around, everyone was half-mad with lack of sleep, most had an injury of some sort and a few could barely walk. But they continued to gut it out, because it was Friday.

“What day is it again, Wednesday?” a grinning instructor asked Bernson.

“Nah, it’s Thursday, ’tino.”

“You sure? I’m pretty sure it’s only Wednesday.”

Matt could see a couple of his classmates, goofy from exhaustion and not able to think clearly anymore, halfway believed what the instructors were saying. He wanted to contradict the two assholes, but he just didn’t have the energy.

“Push ’em out, fellas. We’re not anywhere close to being done here.”

They pushed ’em out. When they wobbled to their feet again, Bernson said, “You’re gonna love this next evolution, men. It’s a doozy. Right, ’tino?”

“Yep. Worst one yet.”

“You ready, people?”

The “hooyahs” were hoarse and scratchy, but they were there.

“The next evolution is…” He paused. “Nah, there isn’t one. You’re secured.”

It took a few seconds for the words to sink in. When they did, the celebration was as loud and boisterous as men dead on their feet could make it. The instructor cadre dispensed handshakes, back slaps and effusive praise.

At last Bernson shouted, grinning, “C’mon, heroes. Head to the bus. Let’s get you outta here.”

Arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders, the eighteen survivors staggered toward the bus. Despite Matt’s swollen knees and aching joints, he felt like he was floating on air. When the group crested the sand berm toward the parking lot, he could see a line of men standing there waiting to congratulate them.

One of them was Instructor Salazar. “You made me proud, guys. Fantastic job.”

“You’ve just accomplished something most men never will,” Chief Howe said. “It’s an honor to shake your hand.”

In accordance with tradition, toward the end of the line waited some of the commanding officers of the West Coast SEAL teams.

“Looking for a few good men in Team Three.”

“Love to have you in Team Five. Come find me after graduation.”

At last the survivors were allowed to board the bus, where they found bottles of soda and candy bars on each seat. As Matt stuffed the chocolate in his mouth, he didn’t think he’d ever been so tired, in so much pain…or so happy.

Chapter Eleven

Shane leaned against the wall, his face tilted up to the cloudless sky, eyes closed. He wouldn’t ever take warmth for granted ever again, not after this. All around him there was excited chatter as the family members of Hell Week survivors waited to pick up their loved ones, a cheer going up when a dark blue bus turned off the Strand and inched through the gate.

It pulled up in front of the training center and Shane caught a brief glimpse of disheveled men stumbling off and being directed inside. He searched the group eagerly for Matt but was unable to pick him out of the crowd, so he paced up and down the sidewalk, hands crammed in the pockets of his jeans. His stomach roiled with nervousness. This so wasn’t gonna be pretty.