by Dawson, Zoe
She got dressed for work, drove downtown and parked in the parking lot, her mind still on her dad. There, a man in an olive-green jacket was assisting an older man she recognized. She’d given him a meal or two when he hadn’t had enough to cover the food. Her boss didn’t know, but since she’d paid for it out of her own pocket, he didn’t really have to.
Willow immediately walked over. “Is everything okay, Frank?”
The older man smiled then looked at the younger man. “It is now.”
The younger man reached out his hand. “Hi, I’m Jim Collins, and Frank is my dad.”
“It’s nice to meet you.”
“My dad wanted to come down here and thank you personally for helping him. I wanted to thank you too.”
“It was nothing.”
He reached out and squeezed her forearm. “It was something. My dad’s been homeless since he got out of the army.”
“I didn’t know you were a vet. My dad is…as well—Navy.”
Frank smiled. “You have a good and fine heart, young lady. Thank you for your generosity.”
“You’re so welcome.”
Jim helped his dad to his car, but instead of getting inside, he walked back over to her. “Your dad is homeless. Isn’t he?”
“How did you know?”
“I recognize that look from my own eyes in the mirror every day. I’m sorry your dad is homeless too. Mine has had a tough go of it.”
She nodded. He reached out and handed her a card. “This is a charity that helped my dad. They gave him a place to live and meals. Finally, he decided that he’d had enough of the street and of worrying me. It’s not easy, I know. But they might be able to help, or you can help them. That feels good too, Willow. I wish you all the best.”
She looked down at the card. Heart and Hand was printed in black letters, and when she looked up, Jim and his dad had driven off.
She turned away and headed toward the diner. Jim’s parting words rushed through her head …or you can help them.
* * *
Hollywood realized he’d made an error in judgment when he heard the small trucks return. Still no sign of his team and now they were trapped here either to be discovered or fight their way out with two handguns.
As the terrorists exited the truck, Hollywood turned to Johnson. “Lieutenant, this isn’t going to work for us. They’re going to find us, and there’s nowhere to run. I’m going to give myself up. You stay here until the team arrives.”
He went to move to the rear of their concealment.
But Johnson grabbed his shoulder. “I’m the ranking officer. I should go.”
“With all due respect, flyboy. I’m spec ops, and I have experience in being captured. I’ll go.”
Johnson sighed. “We’ll come for you.”
Hollywood nodded and crawled out the back of the hiding spot. He straightened and went around the rock with his hands in the air. One of the terrorists saw him and raised his weapon, shouting.
The other seven men moved around him, their rifles trained on him.
“TƏslim! TƏslim!” he said. It was the word for surrender.
One of them gestured with his rifle and ordered Hollywood to his knees. He complied as someone shoved him from behind and kneed him in the back as he flex cuffed him. The man jerked him to his feet and shoved Hollywood down the hill toward the waiting trucks.
But as they approached the back, shots rang out, and all of them dropped to the ground.
There was a sniper out there.
“You sure are a pain in my ass, Hollywood.” The voice came from the thick forest as Hollywood turned toward the sound.
“Copy that, LT. But this one can be blamed on birds.” Hollywood laughed as Ruckus and his team came out of the trees. He waved to Dragon with a nod of thanks. Ruckus cut the cuffs off Hollywood.
“Where’s Johnson?”
“Here,” he said coming down the hill. When he reached the bottom, he handed the cell back to Hollywood. “It’s great to see you guys. Thanks so much for dropping in.”
Ruckus and his teammates nodded.
“Did you get the intel?” Tank asked.
“I got more than that, and the brass won’t like it.”
“Let’s talk somewhere more secure,” Ruckus said. “Let’s get to the LZ.”
They walked for about a mile before they heard the blades of the helo in the distance. As the chopper landed, they all boarded, and it was a quick trip over the border back to Turkey.
As soon as they landed at the Turkish base, Johnson headed out to debrief his own people with another round of thanks.
Ruckus ushered Hollywood to the barracks where he took a quick shower. As he dried off, he saw himself in the mirror and paused. Black and blue bruises, some turning a sickly shade of green, covered his back, running under his arms. They still hurt like hell, but the pain was manageable. There was no way he was going to miss taking out Bill and Ted and recovering that last warhead. It was time to put an end to Bill and Ted’s excellent adventure.
He donned his tactical gear before Ruckus could see what kind of shape he was in. He was going on sheer guts and adrenaline at this point, but he could sleep when the job was done. Outside the bathroom, his team waited, and Wicked grinned at him, relief in his eyes. They started across the compound toward the command center.
Hollywood fist-bumped Dragon. “Good to see you, man.”
“Likewise. Glad you’re all in one piece.”
“Mostly,” Hollywood said as they entered a long, flat-topped building. He made a soft grunt as he took a seat in the small conference room.
* * *
Dragon watched the way Hollywood moved, and it was clear that he was hurting. He looked around at the others, and Dragon was sure they were aware of it as well.
“We’re getting really good at pulling your ass out of the fire,” Wicked said.
Hollywood nodded. “I’m tired of getting fucked in ways that don’t end in an orgasm.”
They all laughed.
“Yeah, like birds coming out of nowhere. What did I ever do to you, karma?” Hollywood asked.
“A flock of them. You’re screwed, man,” Blue said, clapping him on the shoulder and squeezing.
Dragon, used to scrutinizing everything, noticed how Hollywood winced. Cowboy wet an air pen and started writing. “Dear Life, could you at least start using lubricant?”
That got more laughter until Ruckus showed up. “Okay, keep it down, Zen masters. What is going on, Hollywood?”
Their boss man had the same kind of command as Fast Lane, albeit Dragon’s LT was bigger than Bowie Cooper, his shoulders huge. But like Dragon’s commanding officer, they both had the aura of competence and authority about them. Both of them were used to leading as easily as breathing.
Hollywood explained what he saw. Immediately jaws hardened, and eyes went steely. Dragon was aware of the team’s mission to recover ten warheads from a robbery that had left two Marine MPs dead.
“You sure it was Bill and Ted?” Ruckus growled. “Any sign of the warhead?”
A flush of anger and frustration washed across Hollywood’s face. “Absolutely. It was the dynamic duo. One blonde and one brunette equal two airheads,” Hollywood said. “No, no sign of it.”
Dragon remembered how Speed would do that. Remain calm, cool and collected, but it was clear the tall, lanky SEAL was pissed. With the memory of Speed, the conversation around him receded, and the life of the man who had taken Dragon under his wing when he’d first come to the teams fresh from BUD/S intruded. Speed hadn’t been married then, nor had he’d had his two perfect little girls.
That op had been fucked from the beginning, only they hadn’t realized it. They lost eight SEALs in an ambush. Dragon’s team went in, and it was almost as bad—Fast Lane, Pitbull and Speed had been taken. Once Ruckus’s team got on the scene, Tank almost lost Echo, his military working dog, and Blue was captured by the same rebels that had Speed. Boris and Natasha Golovkin, the sadist
ic rebel leaders in Kirikhanistan who had tortured Speed to death.
Dragon’s team attended the funeral, but he stood back, away from the others, his grief hard, heavy and aching right along with his brothers. Ruckus’s team attended. All but Blue, who was still hospitalized.
It was then the fracturing had started. Pitbull’s brothers decided to transfer to other squads in Team Seven, but after all of them being jeopardized, it seemed like the best possible decision. Professor was gone too, headed to the Green Team where he was taking a shot at becoming one of the elite operators for DEVGRU. Half the team was gone, and the other half of them were limping, their cohesion obliterated, their confidence rattled.
And it had all just occurred to him how bad it was because he’d seen firsthand what cohesion was, what confidence was between teammates.
“We’d better get this party started, dudes,” Scarecrow said in his best surfer voice. Dragon snapped out of his reverie, shocked that his mind had wandered during an important brief. He looked around and was completely clueless as to his role.
Hollywood leaned over and said, “You’re with us, man. No overwatch. We’re assaulting head on. There isn’t going to be anything surgical about this op.”
Gratitude rushed through Dragon. How had Hollywood known he’d gone off the rails and his mind had taken over during something that was so damn important? He might not be on this team, but he was dedicated to these guys just as much as if he was one of them. They were all his brothers.
“Ex-cell-ent. Party on,” Blue said, grinning.
The other guys laughed, but Dragon met Hollywood’s serious eyes. Most of the time, he was an asshole. But there was a layer so deep Hollywood felt the need to hide it, and what he kept hidden intrigued Dragon, more than any other member on this team.
“Thanks, Jude,” Dragon said using his name because his call sign was part of what they did as a military unit. This was a personal thank you, and he wanted to make sure Hollywood understood.
He nodded, and the closeness of their interaction settled inside Dragon. He’d had a big brother once, a long time ago, who had looked out for him. He’d died, and Dragon had been left to fend for himself. But Hollywood’s strong, steady presence reminded him of Asahi.
With Hollywood’s coordinates, they inserted about five miles from the camp where Jamal was holed up. It was going on midnight when they hit the valley, and the wind whipped cold and dry from the north, the chill cutting to the bone. The landscape in front of them was flat, the sky a dark blue dotted with stars, and they started walking through tall grass that whipped around their legs.
They made the trek in under forty minutes, coming up on the camp under the cover of darkness. There were only a few lights.
“Dragon, Hollywood, Scarecrow and Wicked, head to the right. We’ll go to the left. We’re looking for Jamal, Bill and Ted. We need those two meatheads alive,” Ruckus ordered.
“Copy that,” all the team members acknowledged.
The wind blew hard as they quickly approached the perimeter of the camp. Dragon crouched with a full line of view of the camp and said into his mic, “I got you covered.”
Wicked and Scarecrow moved past him, but Hollywood only took a few steps. Then all hell broke loose as someone shouted. White light streaked across Dragon’s line of vision, and the world exploded.
Dragon went airborne. He hit the ground, and his breath whooshed out of him with a painful explosion. He levered himself back to his feet, bringing his weapon up, but there was another streak of light. The explosion hit hard, and he was down again.
He tried to get up but fell back down, the world starting to spin, his skin hot, a headache igniting in his skull. With an agonizing effort, he tried to see around the blood obstructing his vision, hoping to God nothing had damaged his eyes. He wasn’t going to die here prone on his back, leaving his teammates uncovered while everything unfolded around him in a strobe-lit dream, his body rigid with pain.
With a monumental effort, he got to his knees and opened fire.
“Someone get that fucking RPG shooter, now!” Ruckus shouted through the comm. There was gunfire everywhere, bodies everywhere, and Dragon reeled, worrying that he was going to hit one of his own. Then the guy loaded another RPG, and Dragon took a painful breath, blocking out the noise, the damage to his body and the danger of the advancing enemy.
Compensating for his blurred vision to hit true, Dragon had something special, and he knew it. Sniping was a part of him, second nature.
Between one breath and the next, he squeezed the trigger, and the bullet exploded from his rifle, its trajectory exact as it slammed home into the guy’s forehead. The man dropped like a stone.
But the RPG had already fired.
Another explosion went off way too close, dirt and debris flying, walloping Dragon again and putting him down for the count.
He heard running feet, but when he scrambled for his weapon, he couldn’t find it. A group of men headed toward him, and he tried to move but couldn’t. They aimed at him, and he tried to roll away to some sort of cover, but then Hollywood was there. Jumping on him, covering him with his own body. Hollywood twisted and shot, one-handed, into the knot of men. They didn’t even have a chance to scatter, some going down under the submachine gun’s fire.
Hollywood sprayed the area until his weapon clicked empty then grabbed his sidearm and took down another group. He never hesitated, only adjusted his aim, without taking his finger off the trigger or pausing his fire. He released the empty magazine out of the pistol, letting it fall as he slammed a fresh mag home.
Dragon closed his eyes, trying to get his equilibrium back so he could help Hollywood. But all of a sudden, he was pulled behind some crates, and Hollywood gathered up both Dragon’s weapon and his own. Hollywood shoved a mag into the submachine gun and started shooting again.
Another gun came into play—Wicked.
They advanced as Scarecrow and Cowboy lined up on either side of them, widening the kill zone. The shooting paused, and Tank said, “Got Jamal. No sign of the airheads.”
“Sonofabitch!” Ruckus said.
“All clear,” Scarecrow said.
Hollywood crouched. “Are you hit?”
Dragon looked up at him, and the light was dimming, going gray around the edges. It was as if his brain was free-floating inside his skull. He couldn’t focus anymore. He rasped out, “I don’t think so.”
“Fuck. So much blood. I can’t tell.” Hollywood searched with his hands against Dragon’s skin, pulling at his body armor. With bloodied fingers, he keyed his mic, leaving a smear of crimson on his vest. “Blue, LT. Dragon’s down. I can’t tell if he’s hit. He’s losing consciousness. Get your ass over here!”
As he drifted, he heard, “Where the fuck did they go?” It was Cowboy, and it was clear in his drawl he was pissed.
“Phone booth time machine?” Tank replied.
“Dealing with these two is like trying to nail Jell-O to the fucking wall,” Ruckus growled.
The roar of chopper blades sounded in the distance.
Dragon’s last thought was that Hollywood had saved his life.
3
Naval Medical Center San Diego
Hollywood walked briskly down the hall toward the nurse’s station. Dragon was somewhere on this floor. He just wasn’t sure what the room number was. As he approached the desk the corpsman on duty, a cute, be-speckled little dumpling of a woman looked up from her computer screen. Then, she went to look down, but her head snapped back up and zoomed in on him like a laser.
He smiled, because he never got sick of that reaction. He added a little swagger to his step, and when he reached the counter, he smiled broadly. The woman’s eyes went a little glassy, and she just stood there.
“Hi there. I’m looking for Petty Officer Shannon’s room.”
The woman didn’t respond.
So he smiled broader. “He goes by the call name of Dragon? Ring any bells?”
“I-I—”
/>
“That gorgeous hunk of Navy SEAL that came in yesterday?” another woman asked. He turned his head to find a lovely, dark-haired corpsman. “Are you one too?”
Now this was more his speed. She knew the score. “I am, and he would be the guy.”
“He’s in 206,” another woman said, this time a blonde in scrubs. Her nametag said Dr. Marrow.
“Hey, that’s cool. Marrow just like in bones. Do they call you Doc Bones?”
She looked at him like he was the smartest man on the planet, and all three of them giggled. Damn, he loved women.
“So what is your call name?” the dumpling asked, elbowing the dark-haired corpsman out of the way. She gave the shorter woman a narrow-eyed gaze and met his eyes, giving him the kind of message he recognized.
“Hollywood.”
The dumpling sighed. “That fits.”
The other two women nodded, and before he knew it, three more women had gathered. He was talking to all six.
“Hollywood?” Ruckus said as he strode down the hall minutes later. “Did you come here for social hour or to see Dragon?”
“Who is that guy?” the dumpling asked.
“That’s my LT,” Hollywood said.
Dr. Marrow’s eyes lit up, and she licked her lips.
“Um, he’s married, baby on the way.”
She looked crestfallen.
Then the other team members began to arrive, and the dumpling said, “Wow.”
“Sorry, they’re all taken but me,” he said as they filed past. Some shaking their heads. Others grinning. She made direct eye contact with him, and he said softly, “What’s your name?”
“Grace Duncan.”
“That’s a pretty name.”
She sighed again as a man came into view, and he frowned. It was clear he didn’t like Hollywood’s presence. He was also in scrubs. Another corpsman admiring her from afar? Good for him.
