A SEAL at Heart

by Anne Elizabeth

  Jack had heard about and personally knew SEALs who had sustained life-threatening injuries and were told they would never walk again, swim again, or be fully operational again. Ninety-three percent of the time, SEALs overcame their issue and went on to play an important role in another Op. Doctors should never underestimate the human will, or rather, a SEAL’s fortitude and desire.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, Jack moved quickly through the building and out the front door. When the fresh air hit his face, he breathed deeply, incredibly grateful to be outside. He nodded at a few familiar faces.

  Heading around the side of the building, he saw a group of men gathered there. In the center was a medium-build guy in a Hawaiian shirt, with scruffy fuzz on his cheeks and chin, laughing with patients, many of whom looked like they had been injured by IEDs. Stumps were bandaged and taped, and there was dried blood on some of the ends. Jack stopped and listened.

  “So, I told the nurse I didn’t want to eat. My nurse wouldn’t back down. She told me that she would sit right next to me until I did. Honestly, I wasn’t going to do it for myself, but the look on her face—for her, I had to eat. I got better too for her, and it took a long time before I was getting better for me. I had to learn that I’m still here, on this earth, because there are things for me to do. People to talk to and pie to eat. Does anyone want some more Julian apple pie?” The man caught Jack’s eyes. “Hi, I’m John.”

  He thrust his hand out and the crowd parted like a wave. Jack caught it and shook hands with a man he knew and could identify as a Medal of Honor recipient, and who was a regular visitor to the soldiers at the hospital. “Jack Roaker. We’ve met before, at the Wounded Warriors Dinner last year. I’ve seen you in the halls, too.”

  “Yeah, had to drag the spiffy rags out for that event. Nice to see you again, Jack.” John clasped his hand around both of Jack’s holding tight for several seconds. Before he let go, he said, “Stay strong.” It was like a punch of energy to his spirit.

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” When Jack pulled away, all of his anger was gone, at the doctor and at the situation. Instead, there was a sense of peace. He was somehow part of a larger picture, and though he might not understand it, he would have to keep going forward to see it all.

  “I’m John. Just John,” said the MOH recipient.

  Jack nodded back at him and waved. “See you around, John.” The fact that man would say such thing—that he was just an ordinary guy, soldier, man like the rest of them—showed how truly extraordinary he was. His greatness was in his words, his kindness, and the time he took to listen to others, to support them, and to share his own story.

  As Jack neared his car, he spied two people whom he had been trying to get hold of for weeks now. Seeley’s and Pickens’s body language toward each other was aggressive. For the first time in his life, Jack didn’t know if he could trust members of his Team.

  “What are you deadbeats up to? Nothing good, from the look of it.” Jack came upon them from an odd angle and caught them on their blind side. Ah, the looks on their faces, pure shock and a little bit of horror. Not the nicest greeting for a brother who had recently saved their asses.

  The men froze for a few seconds, obviously caught in the act of talking about something that Jack wasn’t supposed to hear. “So, what the fuck is going on? Are you bastards hanging around the hospital parking lot to pick up chicks?” Jack was prepared to lay it all on the line to find out the truth. The only trick was that he needed to be stealthy.

  “It’s Croaker! Nice to see you, old man. Looks like you’re healing up just fine,” said Seeley, pasting a grin on his face. “How’s the noggin doing? Seen any more mermaids?”

  Pickens said nothing. His face was blank and he looked past Jack as if he weren’t even there. This, from a guy who claimed to be a Teammate and friend. Obviously there was an issue here.

  Jack stared at them, waiting for them to make accusations to his face or to let something slip. It was like talking to statues.

  “Aren’t you in a speaking mood, Pickens?” asked Jack as he stepped closer to the silent man. “I’ve heard that you have a lot to say about me… lately. Anything you want to say to my face?”

  “Hey, now, Jack, it isn’t what you think. We only gave our reports. You know how it is, we have to be up-front.”

  Seeley stepped in between the two men. “Don’t give us any trouble here, we’re brothers.”

  Jack glared at them. “Team guys don’t set each other up. Why do I get the feeling that the two of you are hiding something?”

  “We’ve been ordered not to discuss the Op with you, Jack. And, we won’t.” Pickens’s voice was low and hard. Under his breath, he muttered, “Fucking West Coast do-gooder.”

  “What?” Jack took a step toward Pickens. Seeley blocked him. There were other ways to skin a goat, and he wasn’t going to let someone ruin his good reputation or peddle some other nonsense without a face-to-face discussion. “Would you like to repeat that?”

  “Why don’t you just let it blow over?” spoke Pickens through gritted teeth. “The report will go through, because you can’t remember, and the whole thing will go away. Just ride it out, Jack.”

  “Because whatever this is about, you’re doing it at my expense, Pickens, and the rest of the Team. We don’t work that way. Courage, honor, duty… or have you stashed your values in your duffel?” Jack knew he was taunting him. He was prepared to go a lot further, too.

  “Shut the fuck up, Croaker. Red Jack, the fucking Boy Scout!” Pickens stepped toward Jack and Seeley was mashed between the two of them. As he spoke, his spit hit Seeley’s shoulder and sprayed Jack’s face. “Everything’s landed on you. Fucking own the situation and move on with it.”

  “Yo! Take it easy guys. There was so much gunfire—all that ammo we laid down, and there was smoke and dust. Combat can affect your memory, Jack.” Seeley was rattling on, trying to smooth things over. There was not enough camouflage makeup in the world to cover this up. “Besides, with the light from the boxes…”

  “What light? There was dust everywhere in that factory.” A puzzle piece was falling into place. If there was light near the boxes, either a Team member had walked over there or someone else was in that building. This clue could help him, or maybe it was a red herring.

  “Shut up!” said Pickens, stepping closer and getting in Seeley’s face. He glared at Seeley and murmured, “Stop helping. Just get the fuck out of this.”

  Jack turned his head to the side like a dog examining something from a new angle, and he saw one. Seeley was the weak link and Pickens was the linchpin.

  The new information made him feel more in control; Seeley would continue to spill the beans. He just needed to get the man alone and ask the right questions. “What gunfire are you referring to? The place was a ghost town. Just precisely who were you guys shooting?”

  Pickens’s eyes were angry, and his jaw clenched. He opened and then closed his mouth. “Fuck off, Jack, there’s nothing here. Got it? Just get lost, before you—”

  “Before I what? Get hurt? Wait, I did.” Jack rubbed his chin. “I get it. You think I have something else to lose besides my swim buddy. Nope, that was it. Everything that was important to me stood next to me during that Op.” It was clear to him that two of his brethren had sold him out for something and Don had died at the expense of whatever those two guys had valued more. Problem was, he couldn’t prove a damn thing. Yet.

  He stared each one in the eye and then he left. As he made his way to his Jeep, Jack could feel the heat of their eyes on his back. He wished he knew every detail of what they said. If there was a hearing and he was brought up on formal charges, he’d hear every detail—that was certain. Until then, everyone was keeping a tight lip.

  Nearing his vehicle, he could see them reflected in the driver’s side mirror. They were arguing and Seeley looked like he was getting slammed.

  “The truth always rises, in the same way the sun always sets,” Gich was known to sa
y. Come hell or high water, Jack was going to make sure everything came out.

  Getting in his Jeep, he fastened his seat belt, turned the key, and pulled noisily out of the lot. He powered up the Bluetooth and called Laurie. Her voice mail picked up. She must have been in session.

  He decided to leave a message. “Hi, Laurie. It’s me. Call when you can. I have some rather interesting information to share with you.” Another call was coming in, so he ended his message and picked up the incoming call.

  “Roaker,” said his XO. “Get your ass to my office ASAP.”

  Chapter 11

  Kill one, terrify a thousand.

  —Sun Tzu

  Jack pulled into an empty parking space in front of the SEAL Team ONE Quarterdeck. He jumped out of the Jeep and double-timed his step until he was at the XO’s door. He knocked and waited.

  The hallway was bustling with activity and his nerves rattled a little.

  “Enter,” barked XO James “Chick” Stockton through the closed door. He had gone through BUD/S training being called Chicken Stock, and the “Chick” part stuck. He was in the process of growing a beard for an upcoming deployment and looked like a plucked bird with feathers sticking out in places.

  Jack took a deep breath, let it out, and then turned the knob. Hot air pummeled his face. The XO hated air conditioners and kept the place as warm as a stove. “Jack, take a seat.”

  The XO was using his first name. That made him nervous, but it set the stage for things to be a bit less formal—not that SEALs stood on formality. “Listen, I didn’t call you in to bust your chops. I want to know what you remember now from the Op.”

  “Quite a bit, Chick.” Jack related the whole story as far as he knew it, with every bit of sensory detail he could remember and highlighted the areas where the holes still remained. “I know I’m close to finding out the rest of it, too. I just need a little more time.”

  The XO nodded his head. “Good job, Jack. You’re on track, that’s good. It’s a luxury—medical leave—that needs to be short-lived. Understood?” He cleared his throat. “Not that you’re hearing this from me.”

  “Yeah, Chick, I get it.”

  “Good. Um, there’s one other thing. An issue about how you’re going about finding your answers…”

  That pussy Doc Johnson must have contacted the XO. “Chick, did you get a call?”

  “Yes, from a, uh…” The XO looked at his desk, and said, “Dr. Derek Johnson.”

  That fucking, pompous paper pusher! “Chick…”

  Holding up his hand, the XO said, “Hear me out, Jack. The regulations are straightforward. A civilian cannot treat military personnel when national security matters are at stake. Since a formal complaint has been registered by Dr. Johnson, I have to ask you not to see this therapist again in that manner.”

  “Permission to speak freely, Chick.” Jack’s words were clipped. He was fighting a wellspring of emotion at the thought of not being able to see or speak to Laurie again. He was so close to the truth.

  Waving his hand, the XO replied, “Dammit Jack! We’re alone. When have SEALs ever stood on ceremony? You’re the damned formalist jackass around here. Speak!”

  “Thanks. This isn’t some Army doctor. Laurie, she’s a physical therapist, a woman who has accomplished more in just a couple of sessions than the whole damn team at Balboa has done since I got back here. Top that off with the fact that she’s the daughter of a SEAL and grew up in this community. It’s not like I’m talking to some fucking stranger, Chick.” The words flew out of his mouth at rapid-fire speed. “I can’t disengage, not see her again. This is my best opportunity to learn what really happened.”

  The XO shook his head. He lifted up a document and held it so Jack could see it. “Stop. I didn’t hear it. This is a copy of the formal complaint added to your file, about your visits with a civilian. I printed it out, because I knew you’d have to see it to get it through your thick skull. I have to order you not see her. I have no choice, Jack.” The XO studied him. “Johnson, he’s an insecure asshole, I get it. There will be repercussions for you and for her if there is any contact. So, say you understand, and get the hell out of here.”

  Picking up his pen, he looked at the paperwork on his desk. “Jack, a SEAL psychoanalyst will be back from deployment in nine weeks. You could take it up with him then, if you’d rather wait.”

  “That’s a long fucking time.” The wind had gone out of his sails. Jack didn’t know what to say.

  “Yes, it is. The issue will have to be dealt with before then. By my estimation you have about seven and half weeks left to get to the truth.” The XO dropped the sheet of paper and it landed without ceremony on his desk. “You’ve heard me. I see your head nodding. Good. Now, get out and go do what you have to do to heal.”

  Damn headshrinker. “Chick!” said Jack, his eyes held the XO’s gaze as he tried to convene the pain this would cause him… losing Laurie.

  “Please…” Inside, Jack was panicking. He needed her. She was healing him—his mind and his heart. His chest tightened.

  The XO sighed as he put the page back with the rest and shut the folder that obviously documented Jack’s military career.

  They stared at each other.

  Finally, Jack turned away from the XO’s desk. He hadn’t been dismissed, so he turned back around. Unlike Don, who had disobeyed practically every command, Jack had never disobeyed an order in his life. But the thought of never seeing Laurie again was like being gutted.

  The XO studied him and then said, “Dismissed.”

  Jack turned and left. Salutes were not big in the Teams, and unless it was a formal occasion or a sign of respect to someone important, they just didn’t happen often. The Teams were a giant equalizer where everybody got dirty, including the officers. That’s why SEAL Teams worked so well: everyone trained together and operated together as one unit, one arm, and one force.

  Today, though, Jack felt like a man on the outside of everything. He wanted back into the action—to be put in play—but nothing was going to change until he could fill in the blanks. Without Laurie, he didn’t stand a chance.

  He walked straight to his car. He opened the door and reached underneath.

  Unlocking a combination box secreted under his front seat, he withdrew his gun case. More than anything, he needed to think. As he headed to the shooting range, he knew that he’d have to come up with some way to find the answers. Without Laurie’s body alongside his or her guiding hand, he didn’t know where to begin.

  His phone beeped. A text message scrolled through: Group therapy on Tuesday.

  A phone call came fast on the heels of the text. It was Laurie. He needed to tell her that he couldn’t see her professionally or personally for a while. There was no boundary between the two roles right now, and he didn’t trust himself to keep his shit on one side or the other. The cell phone in his hand was his work line and it would register that he had taken her call.

  His throat tightened. Christ, he wanted to hear her voice. But if he never spoke the hated words, then maybe there would be some chance in the near future. Better to leave it alone for now.

  He closed his eyes, unwilling to think of a life without her. Silently, he prayed for the first time since he was a little boy. He didn’t know if it would help, but he couldn’t imagine it would hurt.

  Another text shot into his phone. A picture of Laurie’s face all squished up as if she were kissing him. He couldn’t stop himself from saving the photo to his phone and sending a copy to his computer. “Fuck! What am I doing?”

  Pushing a button, he deleted the photo from his phone. Inside, he knew the image was seared on his brain.

  Large dark clouds sped across the sky, blocking out the sunlight. Birds landed on the ground, tucking themselves next to large buildings. Planes zoomed overhead aiming for North Island, and they appeared to be going faster than usual. A storm was coming in and it would be here quickly.

  Drops of rain landed on his hands and fac
e—first a few, and then the skies opened up, sending down a deluge. Had to love this time of year.

  Jack yanked up the soft top and secured it to the frame.

  The rain had already poured inside, soaking the seats. It would dry, and yet it seemed so unimportant compared to what was happening to him. His main concern was… Laurie.

  What would she do when he followed orders and just disappeared? Would she miss him? Would she hate him? Would she ever be able to forgive him? Thinking about her reaction made his emotions spike.

  If only I could tell you… what you mean to me. I fucked up big time, and I don’t know how to fix it.

  Instead, he would be the Navy SEAL jerk who never called her back, and he didn’t even have an Op as an excuse for the lack of contact.

  Chapter 12

  I don’t mind being called tough, since I find in this racket it’s the tough guys who lead the survivors.

  —Colonel Curtis LeMay

  The morning had been extraordinarily dull. Sunbeams streaked in her window one moment and then were gone the next.

  Wednesday—the hump day of the week—usually progressed at a snail’s pace, but today seemed even slower and more fraught with frustration. With only two appointments on the log, Laurie knew she should have done something to fill her time: taken a spin class, gone grocery shopping, anything but sit around, staring at the computer.

  Lately, she felt miserable. There were very few things that could make her smile.

  Scrolling through her cybercalendar, Laurie checked today’s date for the twentieth time. Over six weeks had passed without any word from Jack. Having run the gamut from rage to worry and then back again had been tough on her psyche.

  She’d left ten voice mails and had sent him more text messages than was actually attractive, but she knew she had good reason. The last time she saw Jack, they had planned on speaking within hours of his meeting with the therapist. He had been so gung ho on having another session that he made her promise to keep time in her schedule for him.