by Sandra Hill
Sergeant Major Williamson had singled Ragnor out for particular dislike, also for no apparent reason. But the Viking could handle that kind of torment easily. Real torment would have been serving under someone like Svein Forkbeard, who had a free hand with his broadaxe. Cage summed up Ragnor’s situation succinctly: “Sometimes you’re the dog. Sometimes you’re the hydrant.” Ragnor didn’t know precisely what a hydrant was, but he got the gist.
He and the other SEAL trainees had survived these two weeks. That was the most important thing.
This fifth phase of SEAL training in George-ha was designed to teach the men how to fall in progressively more dangerous situations. The PLFs (parachute landing falls) started with a thirty-four-foot tower simulating an airplane exit. And wasn’t that great fun! Then they moved on to 250-foot captive jumps. Even greater fun, that! During the upcoming final Jump Week they would all be required to make five qualifying jumps, one in full combat gear and another a mass jump with all their comrades. Out of an airplane. Up in the sky. I can’t wait. Ha, ha, ha!
The work was tedious at times. Over and over they practiced the proper way to fall into the sawdust pits, to avoid breaking a leg or other body part. They must needs fall on the flat of their feet with the legs acting as springs to absorb the shock, upper body twisting to the side. Not as easy as it at first appeared. Sometimes he missed his brother Torolf, who would have enjoyed hearing him tell of lessons in falling, of all things. The two of them had done way too much of just that as youthling boys bent on mischief.
Today was Saturday, and they’d been given the only liberty day to be dispensed whilst in George-ha. Ragnor had been calling Alison’s tell-a-fone number every half hour, to no avail. All he got was her answering machine—a torture device, to be sure.
“Where could she be?” he complained when he returned to the table in the drinking hall where his friends were sloshing down beer and eating pete’s-ha, an Ah-mare-ee-can delicacy that looked like manchet bread with cheese and a bloodlike substance on top. Actually, it was delicious.
“She’s still not there, huh?” Cage asked, patting him on the shoulder as he sat down.
Ragnor shook his head and decided he just might have to drown his sorrows in his mead. He’d been unable to make any fone calls the first two weeks they’d been here. Now, at his first free time, she was unavailable. Why he would think she should have made herself available, without prior notice, he had no idea, but he was chagrined nonetheless.
Just then a female Army person sat down in the empty chair on his other side and said, “Hiiiii, baby.”
He looked to his left and then behind him to see whom she addressed. “Are you talking to me?”
“Oh, yeah! My name’s Tamara Blue. I’m from Savannah. Y’all can call me Tammie, y’heah?” She talked with the same lazy drawl as Cage.
“Just call me Max,” he replied, a mite baffled. Usually women latched onto Pretty Boy first, attracted by his superior good looks, as he so often reminded them. Or JAM if they were more tempted by dark, mysterious men. Ragnor was not a humble man. He knew his assets, and they were plenty, but still he asked, “Why me?”
“Honey, I reckon you got a butt to die for. I noticed when you went to make a phone call.”
He grinned. Bloody hell, I wish Torolf were here. He would be hooting with laughter that a woman is attracted by my arse.
“Y’all gonna buy me a beer?”
“Oh. Yea. Of course.” He felt as clumsy as an untried youthling. Cage laughed and raised a hand in the air to signal the serving wench. Ragnor’s other comrades smirked at his awkwardness.
He recognized the woman now. She was in their jumping class. Whilst some of the men shivered in their boots afore leaping from the high towers, she had launched herself out with a wild yell of “Yahoo!”
“Sooooo, Max, is it true what they say about SEALs?” she inquired lazily after taking a long swig of beer straight from the bottle. Holding his eyes, she did the most outrageous thing. She took the long neck of the bottle into her mouth, all the way, then slowly drew it out, licking the sides the whole time.
Son of a dragon! I wonder if Alison can do that?
He heard Cage mutter at his other side, “Sonofagun!” The other men muttered things more explicit than that.
“Well?” she asked.
“Well, what?” He gulped as he spoke. Tammie was short, petite, and blond, with a tattoo on her arm that read “Born to be Wild.” She was not his type at all; still, a part of his body appreciated her assets very much … and the bottle trick, he had to admit. He shifted in his seat to accommodate that growing appreciation.
Tammie noticed and grinned at him. “I asked if it was true what they say about SEALs?”
That they are demented? That they talk too much about women? That they are braggarts? “What do they say?”
“That y’all have great staying power. All that long-distance swimming and stuff tends to build muscle.” She put particular emphasis on the word “muscle,” which let him know which muscle she was referring to. As if he and said muscle didn’t know exactly what she meant.
“I do not know about SEALs, but we Vikings are known far and wide for that particular talent,” he told her truthfully.
“Oh, my Gawd! You’re a Viking, too. I luuuuve football.”
Flash burst out laughing, and beer shot out of his mouth. “Good thing he’s not a Ram. Think of that picture.”
“Do you think the Minnesota Vikings wear horned helmets?” Cody was laughing so hard he kept hitting the table with his fist as if to catch his breath.
“Or that the Rams know how to ram?” Sly added with a chuckle.
In truth, they were all making mirth at his expense and that of the young woman.
“I mean that I am from the Norselands,” he explained to Tammie.
“Jerks!” she said to the entire table, including him. Then she stood, about to stomp away.
Ragnor couldn’t insult a woman, even a stranger, especially when tears welled in her eyes. He put a hand on her forearm and drew her back down. “My apologies, m’lady, I meant no offense. I really am a Viking by birth. And my friends”—he cast a warning glower around the table—“well, they are nigh drukkin and will surely suffer the alehead in the morning, if that is any recompense.”
She nodded her acceptance of his apology. Some of her friends came to join them at the table, which shut the crude mouths of his comrades. In the shuffle of gathering extra chairs and ordering drinks, Tammie asked, “Wanna dance?”
Well, actually, he didn’t “wanna,” but he couldn’t offend her further. So he stood with a sigh of resignation and walked out onto the dance floor. There were no musicians, but music blared from a lighted box.
Tammie came only to his chin, so she wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her face on his chest. Not knowing what to do with his hands, he placed them on her shoulders. Then they swayed from side to side.
I am getting quite good at this dancing. In fact, I like it.
Then she moved her hands down to cup his buttocks.
On the other hand, it would not be wise to like it too much. He knew he had to say something. “I am complimented by your interest in me, but I am committed to another.”
She drew her head back. “Married? I didn’t see a ring.”
“Nay, not married.”
“Engaged?”
“Not precisely.”
“Are you jerking me off?”
Ragnor had a pretty good idea what that meant. “Nay. ’Tis true. I have a lady love back in Coronado waiting for me.” I hope. “Whether we wed or not is in the hands of the Norns right now, but mayhap it will happen someday.” If I’m still here. “All I know is that I would feel disloyal to her if I rutted with another woman.” Though I am sorely tempted.
“Rutted?” She laughed. “Maybe you oughta be a ram instead of a Viking, like your buddies said.”
They continued to sway back and forth, quiet now. Another song came on the b
ox, and still they swayed.
“Is there no man in your life back in Save-anna?”
“There was,” she said, “but we had a big fight before I re-upped this time. He’s in the Army, too, but he wanted to get married and for me to stay home and take care of his kids.”
He frowned in confusion.
“He’s divorced but has custody of his two kids, three- and four-year-old boys.”
“Well, I know how that is. My father had custody of thirteen children at one point. None of the women wanted to stay and take care of them.”
“Thirteen?”
“Yea. I suspect that not all of them were his, but my father had a kind heart and could not turn any child away. In any case, he was a very handsome man. Women loved him, obviously, but none of them would stay because of the children. A more bothersome lot there ne’er was, myself included.” Why do you not take up blathering as an occupation, Ragnor? You are getting quite adept at it.
“Oh, Jake’s kids aren’t a bother at all. They’re adorable. And their mother is a bitch. Wants nothing to do with them. Poor munchkins! And Jake, he’s a great father. I can’t help loving him, kids and all.”
“Let me understand this. You love the man. You love his children. But you left him?” Now I am giving love advice. Aaarrgh!
“I’m only twenty-four years old. I want a military career. For a while anyway. And despite loving his kids, I want my own. I don’t know. I’m so confused.”
Let me tell you a thing or twelve about confusion, milady. “Betimes it is difficult for me to understand people of your ti … country. You make everything so complicated.”
“How so?”
“A man protects those under his shield. That is the way it has been from the beginning of time. Oh, do not get your hackles up. I am not saying that women cannot have their own lives and interests. But I understand this Jake fellow. ’Tis in the nature of man to want his woman and children home where he is better able to care for them.”
“That is a load of male chauvinist crap.”
He shrugged. “I do not have easy answers. But let me say this. You live in dangerous times here in Ah-mare-ee-ca. Terrorists. Deranged despots. And military people are in even greater danger than average folks. How would you feel if you heard tomorrow that your Jake had been killed?”
“Devastated.”
“And would you have any regrets?”
“Probably.”
“On the other hand, if you were killed tomorrow, how would your Jake feel?”
“Devastated,” she answered without question.
“Would he have regrets?”
She shrugged. “Probably. What’s your point?”
“My grandmother believed that for every man there is one woman. She would say, find a way to make it work. Life is too short to live it unhappily.” Does this apply to me, too?
“Why is it always the woman who must compromise?”
“I ne’er said that.” Did I think it?
“Well, I suppose that my parents and Jake’s parents could help with the kids when either of us was on active duty. We’d be able to save some money for a house if both of us were working. And it’s not like it would be forever. I don’t know. It’s not the best solution, but …”
“… a compromise?” Why am I thinking that this applies to me, too?
She smiled and hugged him warmly. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Listening.”
Several hours later, when Ragnor and his friends were leaving the drinking hall, after five more unsuccessful calls to Alison, he noticed Tammie leaning against the wall speaking on the tell-a-fone. “I love you, too, Jake. And, darlin’, we are gonna make it work. If we love each other, nothing can stop us. Y’hear?”
Ragnor smiled and tipped his cap at her as he passed. In his heart, though, he wondered if love really could overcome all odds. Especially when the man was a thousand years old.
Chapter Seventeen
Daddy Dearest …
Alison was as spit-shined as any Navy girl could be when she went to the opulent, one-hundred-plus-year-old Hotel del Coronado to meet her father and Ian for dinner.
The Del was a magnificent architectural extravaganza, which had been visited by numerous celebrities and politicians over the past century … in fact, every president since Lyndon Johnson. The movie Some Like It Hot had been filmed here with Marilyn Monroe, Jack Lemmon, and Tony Curtis in 1958. Wallis Simpson and Edward, then Prince of Wales, were said to have met here. It even had its own resident ghost.
But that was neither here nor there. Alison barely paid attention to the surroundings as she made her way toward the Palm Court, followed by the ensign who’d been assigned to guard her this past week, even when on base. She was about to be grilled by her father, and she felt like a little girl on the carpet again.
“Hey, Pooh Bear,” her father said as he stood and gave her a quick kiss and warm hug. Pooh Bear? Jeesh! I’m twenty-seven freakin’ years old and he still calls me Pooh Bear!
“Daddy,” she said, hugging him back. Wait till he finds out that Pooh Bear is gonna have a mini-Pooh.
Over his shoulder, Ian grinned at her … probably delighted to have some of the attention diverted away from himself. Their father had been in town for three days now, and Alison had managed to avoid him, after their initial meeting, having pleaded a heavy caseload with her patients.
Once they sat down, she noticed her father had his usual martini sitting in front of him. The Palm Court was known for its award-winning martini menu, but that wouldn’t have mattered. Her father had had a ritual of drinking two martinis, graced with one olive each, every night as long as she could remember. No less, no more. The Del wouldn’t have dared give this austere, highly decorated Navy big shot anything but the best, whether it be lodgings, food, or drinks.
His admiral’s uniform with all its medals and insignia was impeccable. The brass gleamed. As always, not a hair on his short-cut gray head was out of place. Thirty years of “high and tight.” He sat erect, even when at ease. The man commanded respect without uttering a word.
Ian was drinking Scotch, straight up. A bad sign.
“What’ll you have, Pooh?” her father asked.
“Just water with a twist of lemon,” she said.
“No wine? You usually have white wine.”
She shook her head. “Not tonight.” Or for another eight or so months. Oh, God! How am I ever going to tell these two? Well, not tonight, that’s for sure.
While her father updated them on the investigation, Ian sipped at his drink and she picked at the appetizers. She hadn’t realized she was so hungry, and the calamari in filo dough was delicious, followed by crisp house salad with raspberry vinaigrette dressing. She ate all of hers, as well as part of Ian’s and her father’s, too. Her appetite had become voracious, probably due to the baby. How soon will I show? Ha, ha, ha! I’m a doctor. I already know that. Three months. Maybe four.
“It can’t be those Lebanese terrorists from five years ago that are stalking me and Allie today,” Ian said. “They all died in the bombing, along with a bunch of civilians and our entire SEAL team, except for me. A bunch of friggin’ nutcakes!” He glanced at Alison and winced at his own bad language.
Really, Ian and her father both treated her like a little girl, as if she’d faint at bad language. Not so little now … and about to be bigger.
“We don’t know for sure yet, but we think one of these terrorists lost civilian family members in the blast, and they’re out for revenge,” her father explained.
“Revenge?” Alison exclaimed. “They were the ones who set off the bomb.”
“Terrorist logic, I guess,” her father said. “An eye for an eye, we’re thinking. Your family destroyed in return for the tango’s family.”
“What about Clay and Ross? Are they in danger, too? And how about you, Daddy?” she asked, suddenly worried.
“They wouldn’t be able to get to me. I’m too in
sulated in the capital. But, yes, Clay and Ross could be targets, and the necessary precautions have been taken.”
Their entrees came: stuffed flounder with wild rice for Alison and rare filet mignons with big baked potatoes for Ian and her father. As they ate, her father continued to discuss the investigation. At one point he stared at her oddly, and she realized that she’d put sour cream and chives on her rice and was eating it with relish. “Right now we are in a holding pattern. Everyone’s safe. But at some point we may have to send some pigeons out there to catch a hawk or two.”
“Pigeons? I hope you don’t mean a decoy for me.” Ian protested. “I’ll go back to my house and act as bait. I don’t need anyone to take my place.”
“Me either,” Alison said, equally irritated.
“Opinions noted, and they will be passed on. Those decisions are out of our hands, though. Changing the subject, I have some good news for you, Pooh Bear.”
I’m not pregnant? It was just a dream … or a nightmare?
“We’ve just gotten the president’s and the Congressional Armed Services Committee’s confidential approval to go ahead with a new set of military teams … the Liberty Teams. It’s all hush-hush so far. They’ll be made up of representatives of special forces from all the armed services … Green Berets, SEALs, Delta teams, all the Special Forces, computer experts, pilots, medical personnel. To start, there will be twelve teams of fifteen hand-picked operatives each.”
Her father looked her directly in the eye and winked.
The hair rose on the back of her neck. “Me? You think I might have a chance?”
Her father patted her hand. “No promises, and I know it’s not the SEALs, as you’ve always wanted, but I do have a little bit of pull.”
Can my life get any better … or worse … than this? I’m pregnant. There is no way in the world they will accept a pregnant woman. And it’s doubtful they’d take a new mother, either. Lack of focus. Oh, my God! Oh, my God! What should I do? Tears welled in her eyes.
“Now, sweetie, don’t go bawling on me. You always hoped for something like this.”
