Keeping a Warrior

by Melanie Hansen

  For a little while there, she thought maybe she’d made a friend.

  What a fool.

  Heaving a ragged sigh, Devon dried off and got dressed. No civilian clothes this time, but a uniform—desert cammies with boots. She twisted her wet hair into a bun and set her soft cover gently on her head. Then she stood at attention, resolve stiffening her spine.

  You can do this, soldier girl.

  She had to forget about Mullet. He wasn’t repeating anything that wasn’t common knowledge throughout the community. She had to forget about Rhys. He wasn’t her friend; she wasn’t here to make friends.

  No, today she was here to jump out of a goddamn airplane. Time to put the A in SEAL.

  Out in the parking lot the guys were milling around with coffee cups in hand, joking, talking about their latest foray to the strip club. A couple of them tossed her an offhanded “good morning,” nothing out of the ordinary. Mullet was nowhere in sight, and neither was Rhys. Devon slumped in relief. She didn’t have to face them yet.

  “Hey, wanna help me pull the vans around?”

  Devon turned to see Matt holding out a set of keys. Grateful to have something to do, she took them. “Sure.”

  As they began a slow jog across to where the vans were parked, Devon glanced at him. As a rule Matt didn’t smile much, but this morning he seemed especially dour.

  “Everything okay?”

  Matt shook his head. “Did you hear about Mullet?”

  In an instant all of Devon’s tension slammed back into her, and she had to fight to keep from stumbling.

  “No,” she said tightly. “What about him?”

  “He’s being sent home.”

  “What?” Now Devon stopped short and gaped at him. “Why?”

  Matt slowed, too. “Apparently he drunk-dialed his wife in the middle of getting a lap dance last night. And when I say ‘lap dance,’ she was dancing on his lap with her mouth.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  “Yeah. I just took him to the airport so he can go home and clean up his mess. Stupid bastard.”

  Yet I’m the slut.

  Devon shoved that thought away, sharpening her gaze on Matt. His lips were mashed together, white lines bracketing his mouth. The dude was seriously upset.

  Without even realizing she was doing it, Devon edged away. “You’re close to him?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Matt’s voice was incredulous. “Hell, no. I think that guy’s a douche. Good SEAL, but he’s a prick.” His eyes met hers. “A real prick.”

  So Mullet told you, too.

  Swallowing hard, Devon looked away and started walking again. Matt’s boots crunched on the asphalt as he trotted to catch up. “So Mullet’s gone,” she forced out. “Who’s going to replace him?”

  “We’re getting a guy transferred over from Charlie platoon. He’ll be here today.”

  “Another douche?”

  Matt made a strangled noise. “No, he’s not a douche at all. In fact, he’s—”

  When Matt broke off, Devon said impatiently, “He’s what?”

  “He’s my ex-boyfriend.” Matt’s words rushed out of him with the force of a freight train, and he immediately clapped his hand over his mouth, his eyes wide with horror.

  “Whoa.” Devon blinked a few times. “That’s gonna be awkward. Shane, right?”

  Now Matt looked downright gobsmacked. “You know?” he gasped, the rest of the color draining from his face.

  “I guessed.” Devon leaned against one of the vans. “It, uh, wasn’t that hard.”

  “Jesus.” Collapsing next to her, Matt pinched the bridge of his nose. “Am I that obvious?”

  Devon thought back to that first day, Matt tripping all over the place at the mere mention of Shane’s name. “Kinda.”

  “Fuck me. I don’t know why I even told you that. I’m sorry.”

  “About him being your ex?” When he nodded, Devon chuckled. “Don’t be. This might sound weird, but it feels really nice to be trusted. You don’t know how much I needed that today.”

  A rueful look crossed Matt’s face. “I have to be honest and say I totally didn’t mean for that to happen. But now that it has—” He nudged her shoulder. “I’m glad you know. I’m glad someone knows. Having him here is...well, it’s gonna suck.”

  Devon turned to face him. “But Charlie platoon is our sister platoon. If you wanted to avoid him, why transfer into his task unit?”

  SEAL teams were comprised of four sixteen-man platoons, two platoons to a task unit. Task units usually deployed together, although they were each assigned to different areas of operation. Shane’s platoon was rumored to be bound for Syria, while Devon and Matt’s was slated for Afghanistan.

  Matt’s lips twisted. “My task unit in Five was down by so many guys, they were talking about absorbing the rest of us into one of the East Coast teams. If I went East Coast...”

  Devon winced. The West Coast teams had recently been rocked by a rash of drug scandals—dudes who’d popped positive and been relieved of their duties. Task units were being shuffled, commanders were being fired.

  “I can’t leave him and go East Coast,” Matt whispered. “When I heard there was an opening at Delta, I jumped at the chance.” His eyes gleamed. “Plus, Delta was in line for deployment. Stay close to Shane; get to deploy. Win-win.”

  “Well, now you’re going to get the chance to work directly with him,” Devon said encouragingly. “Here’s your chance to fix whatever’s wrong.”

  “You don’t know how badly I fucked up, Devon. You have no idea.”

  “Fuck-ups can be fixed.”

  “Some can. This one?” He sounded so sad that Devon put her hand on his forearm and squeezed.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “But you know what? That clown was supposed to stay in his own goddamn platoon!” Matt’s voice rose indignantly. “Not come here and get in my face.”

  “I take it you’re not out like he is?”

  Matt froze for a split second. “No. And before you think that has anything to do with this, it doesn’t. Shane’s decision to come out is his own, just like not coming out is mine. He’d never in a million years expect me to do something I’m not ready for.”

  “Got it.” Devon paused. “So why did you two break up, then?”

  “Because I’m an idiot.” Pushing off the side of the van, Matt said, “Can we talk about this later? I’m—”

  “Hey, FNG!” They both whipped their heads toward Grizz, who had his hands cupped around his mouth as he shouted across the parking lot, “Flirt with the lady some other time and get your ass over here in those vans.”

  “Shit.” They hustled into their respective driver’s seats and drove over to the entrance. As the guys piled in, Matt approached Grizz. They had a short, intense conversation, and then Grizz strode over to Devon, motioning for her to roll down her window.

  When she did, he leaned in close. “I apologize, Ms. Lowe. My comment about flirting was completely out of line.” He sounded sincere, and his eyes were steady on hers. “Knytych said you two were having a serious discussion, not flirting, and the next time I make a sexist assumption like that, he’s gonna kick my nuts in. He’s absolutely correct, and I apologize.”

  Devon was so taken aback at first that all she could do was stare at him. Then she said quietly, “I appreciate that. Apology accepted.”

  Grizz tapped her door with his fist and started to walk away before whirling back around. “Just so you know, if there’s any resistance to you being here, it isn’t because of J-Rob’s death.”

  Devon gave a bitter snort. “Yeah, right.”

  “Mullet was on Jon’s boat crew. They were roommates at BUD/S.” Grizz held up his hand. “I’m not trying to make excuses for him, but you gotta realize those sorts of ties run deep...deeper than family sometimes. Outsiders don’t always understand.”

  Devon did understand, that the bonds formed in the crucible of BUD/S were almost impossible to sever, even in death.
>
  “I’ll tell you what I tell all my new guys,” Grizz went on. “Keep yourself squared away and do your job. That’s all that matters, okay? Do your job, and woman or not, the trust will grow. Got it?”

  “Hooyah.”

  He strode off toward the other van and climbed inside. Matt caught Devon’s eye and gave her a tiny half salute. “We got this,” his expression seemed to say. “You and me.”

  A faint glow of warmth took root in Devon’s chest as she put the van in gear and started to follow Matt over to the airfield.

  “Wait!”

  Devon slammed on the brakes. A second later the passenger door was wrenched open and Rhys leapt into the seat, flushed and with his hair sticking up everywhere. “Sorry,” he said, trying in vain to smooth down his bedhead. “Overslept.”

  He gave her his endearingly crooked grin, but then he sobered, his gaze searching hers. “You okay? I’m sorry about last night.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  In fact, Rhys had called Mullet out on the spreading of gossip, and he’d even tried to comfort her after, but in her deep and utter humiliation she’d slammed the door right in his face.

  “Really, I’m okay, man,” she said. “Thanks.”

  They shared a smile.

  A few minutes later she let out a whoop as the airfield came into view.

  “Now let’s go jump out of some perfectly good airplanes!”

  * * *

  “Aww, dude, what the fuck?”

  As the grumbling got louder, the lead instructor put his hands up. “Let me show you something.”

  He pointed a small remote at the whiteboard mounted on the wall. When a full color picture appeared on it, the room suddenly went quiet.

  “This guy didn’t think he needed refresher training, either. He had hundreds, if not thousands, of jumps under his belt. What exactly went wrong this time? We don’t know. What we do know is he fought that thing all the way down.”

  Devon stared at the picture of a still figure on the rocky ground, covered by the American flag, his boots the only part of him visible. A parachute was crumpled up next to him.

  “Today we’re gonna go over body mechanics, emergency procedures, packing gear and packing chutes. If we have time, we’ll do a couple of dopes on a rope. Anyone got a problem with that?” The instructor’s voice was hard, and a few people muttered, “No, Senior Chief,” from around the room.

  “Okay. Let’s get to it.”

  It was a tired and somber group that trudged toward the vans just after dusk. The work had been tedious, but necessary. It turned out several of the guys had let their jump quals lapse, or couldn’t properly list out the steps for recovering from an uncontrolled spin.

  The picture of the dead SEAL had been a wake-up call for all of them, especially at the end when the instructor revealed he’d been DEVGRU—a member of the elite SEAL Team Six.

  “That ‘special’ in special operator doesn’t mean you’re immune to the forces of gravity, people. Parachutes don’t open, or open incorrectly, you die.”

  When they got back to the transient barracks, the guys scattered, most disappearing into their rooms. Devon wasn’t hungry, and she didn’t want to be cooped up, so after changing into her running clothes, she headed back out to the parking lot.

  Rhys was already there, with apparently the same idea.

  “Want to run together?” he asked.

  Devon gave a bitter snort. “Are you sure you can trust to be alone with me?” She moved off a little ways to start stretching.

  A few beats of silence, and then she felt Rhys’s warmth next to her. “I think it’s a lot more about you trusting me,” he said quietly.

  She looked up at him, at the solemnness of his face, the steadiness of his gaze. Could she trust him? With all of her heart, Devon felt that she could.

  But...

  She’d trusted them, too. For months they’d lived, breathed, worked together, and she’d come to trust them with her life. Her brothers-in-arms. Her friends.

  Devon felt the weight of the knife in her sports bra pressing against her skin. Her gut was telling her Rhys was safe, and even if the last thing she trusted was herself anymore, she had to start somewhere.

  “Let’s go.”

  They were quiet as they ran, the pace slow and easy, their feet crunching on the hard-packed dirt. Planes loomed around them on all sides, the tail fins silhouetted against the night sky. Some of them were jagged, broken, reminding Devon of serrated knife blades.

  “Race the last hundred yards?” Rhys turned around and jogged backward, one eyebrow raised in challenge. “I’ll give you a head start.”

  “Aww, fuck that. Go!”

  She took off, laughing at his surprised look. She was fast, but it was only a few seconds until he thundered past her. By the time she caught up with him, he had his fingers linked behind his head as he walked in circles, cooling down.

  His body glistened with a light sheen of sweat, and Devon noticed he was carrying a small daypack.

  “What’s in the pack? And thanks for not letting me win.”

  Rhys grinned at her. “First aid kit. Water. A few snacks.” He shrugged. “I’m a medic. Emergency supplies are what I do.”

  “Ha.” Propping her hands on her hips, she tilted her head back and stared up at the plane. “It’d be so cool to get inside that thing, wouldn’t it?”

  “Would you ever want to fly something like this?”

  “Nah.” Impressed he remembered what she’d told him about her early aspirations, Devon said, “I, uh, actually had my sights set on the 160th.”

  “The Night Stalkers? Whoa.”

  “Yeah. Since they opened it to women, that’s all I ever wanted to do.”

  She’d grown up on her dad’s stories about the fabled 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment, the squadron of helicopter pilots who flew spec ops guys into battle. Their specialty was night flying, fast and low, in blacked-out helos.

  “I finished Warrant Officer Candidate School and was about to apply to the flight program when I heard about the Cultural Support Team.” Devon wandered toward the front landing gear of the 747. “It seemed like the sort of challenge I wanted, and it would get me into special operations a lot faster than the pilot track.”

  Letting out a deep sigh, she rested her back against the huge tire. After a moment, Rhys joined her. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re making a hell of a lot more difference doing what you’re doing. After all, I saw it in action.”

  That mission. The scared children who’d calmed at the sight of a woman. The grieving widow who’d told Devon and Roshana something she never would’ve told the men.

  She had been making a difference. Until that night, when she’d placed her trust in the hands of men she’d been willing to die for...

  “Hey, check it out!” Rhys’s voice broke into her anguished thoughts. He was pointing up at the belly of the plane, at what looked like an open access panel. “I think we could climb up there.”

  He dug in his pack for a moment before passing her a sturdy flashlight. Devon switched it on and aimed it up at the panel. “Try it.”

  Rhys braced his foot on a bolt in the flattened tire and pulled himself halfway up into the opening. “Piece of cake.” He disappeared into the belly of the plane. Devon paced back and forth excitedly until he poked his head out. “Yep, this is the baggage hold. And I found a ladder leading up to the passenger compartment.”

  He reached his hand down.

  “I don’t need any help,” she started to snap, subsiding when Rhys waggled his fingers.

  “I know,” he said, “but I’ll take the flashlight. Unless you wanna hold it between your teeth.”

  A little sheepishly she tossed him the flashlight, then cocked her head, studying the way up. It turned out the landing gear mechanism had quite a few hand-and footholds, so it was a simple matter to climb it and pull herself inside.

  The baggage compartment was dark, hot
and smelling of dust.

  “Don’t trip on the tracks.” Rhys aimed the flashlight at his freshly skinned knee.

  “Ow.” Devon picked her way through the baggage roller tracks that crisscrossed the floor until she’d reached his side. She gazed up the ladder. “Did you check it out?”

  “Thought you might want to do the honors.”

  He stood back and aimed the flashlight up the ladder for her, lighting the way. Devon scampered up, suddenly flushing hot at the realization she was giving him a bird’s-eye view up the legs of her tiny, sweaty running shorts.

  Shit. Is that why he wanted me to go first?

  Once at the top of the ladder, she backed against the nearest wall and watched warily as he ascended.

  “Hey, sweet cheeks, I’d love to break the axle of that Humvee there with you.”

  “Why did you wear that tight T-shirt if you don’t want us to look?”

  Devon touched the knife tucked into her sports bra and waited to see if he’d make a lewd remark about her body, or hit on her.

  Please don’t. Please be different.

  All he said was “Cool!” as he tucked the flashlight back in his pack. The double rows of passenger windows, the missing doors, allowed moonlight to flood this part of the plane. A dusty wind whistled eerily through and rustled the loose insulation.

  Devon shivered when she glanced up and saw a hole in the ceiling.

  “Okay, maybe this is a little creepy,” she admitted.

  Rhys didn’t answer, since he was trying the door to the cockpit. He crowed when it opened and disappeared inside.

  When she cautiously poked her head in, he was ensconced in the copilot’s seat flipping random switches and yanking on the yoke. She bit back a smile.

  “You’re like a little kid twisting a steering wheel back and forth while pretending to ‘drive,’” she said drily.

  “What’s that?” Rhys tapped his ear. “We’re cleared for takeoff? Okay, we just need the pilot.”