Return of the Phoenix - 01

by Heath Stallcup

  Lamb raised his eyebrows and gave Jacobs a ‘duh’ stare. “I’ve been microwaving in the desert for four days and shot across sixty clicks of the driest litter box God ever created. You tell me.”

  “Catch you in twenty then. I’ll check in with the LT first,” Jacobs said, then tossed him his go-bag.

  As Jacobs entered the headquarters tent, his eyes adjusted to the gloom. He pulled his sunglasses off and scanned the interior. A young Navy lieutenant raised his head and met his gaze, a smile playing across his face. Crossing the room, the man met him with a hardy arm grasp.

  “Damned good to see ya again, Jake! I was starting to worry.”

  “Me, too, LT. I hate silent ops, but we got the bastard,” Jacobs replied.

  He had to admit that, although Lieutenant Andrews was fairly young, he held himself like a much older and more experienced officer. The LT, as his men called him, was an Academy Man, football player, and Navy SEAL who now commanded the elite team; but he was still one of the guys. He drank with them, played cards with them, went shooting with them, chased women with them, and treated them equally. Commission or not, he fraternized with his men as if they were brothers…because they were. He bled with his men the same as any other spec op warrior, and yet he would take all the blame if somehow an op went south. And for that, his men held even more respect for him. The big blonde man with blue eyes stood out here in the Middle East, but so did most other Americans. As the LT was fond of saying, ‘We’re not here to win their hearts and minds, we’re here to win a war. Otherwise they’d send the friggin’ Boy Scouts.’

  “Where’s Lamb?” Andrews asked, glancing around.

  “Showers, sir. He stunk to high heaven. I felt it was a necessary precaution prior to debriefing, sir.”

  Andrews smiled. “Just tell me you got the bastard and that’s all I’ll need for my report.”

  “One shot, one kill, sir. Positive ID,” Jacobs replied. “Shot him through the latrine door.”

  “Good enough for me, Jake. I’ll write it up, shoot ya a copy in an e-mail.” He clapped the man on the back. “Now go get some R&R. You and Lamb both. You got a special op coming up.”

  Jacobs face fell. “Sir? Already? We just got back off a four day in the melt…”

  The LT didn’t look happy. “I know, Jake. This one is from Pentagon Special. I don’t even know what it’s about, but it isn’t here. You’re flying out of here tomorrow at 0600 hours.”

  Jacobs was confused and he obviously didn’t like being away from his comrades in arms. “What about the team, sir? What will they do without us as backup?”

  “The detailer is sending replacements to cover for you fellas until you return,” Andrews answered flatly. Jacobs could tell by his tone that he wasn’t happy. Their well-oiled machine was about to have some monkey wrenches tossed into the gears.

  “Sir, do we know the duration of this op?”

  “May be permanent, Jake.” Andrews paused. He was obviously upset but trying not to show it. “Maybe you could break the news to Lamb for me? I don’t think I can do this twice.” Jacobs remembered the times that the LT and Lamb had covered each other’s asses in the thick, the friendship shared, the bond formed just being team mates and he understood completely. It was like losing a brother.

  “Are we being kicked out of the Teams, sir?” he had to ask.

  “What? Good God, no!” Andrews replied. “You boys’ records are exemplary! You’re the best I got.” The LT shuffled, seemed a bit uncomfortable, then he sighed, “Hell, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think somebody else was trying to recruit you boys out from under me. Maybe CIA or some shit. But to be completely honest, Jake, I just don’t know what’s going on. I’ve made inquiries up and down the chain of command, but I get blocked at every level. I can’t get any answers.”

  “I guess we’ll find out when we get there,” Jacobs said, scratching at his chin in thought.

  “When you do, let me know what the fuck is going on, wouldja? I hate being left in the dark when it comes to my boys.” Andrews’ eyes bore into him. His Southern drawl kept slipping out when he spoke of his men. It was how his men knew they were close to him. Whenever he spoke of his family in Alabama, his accent would come slipping back, and before anyone could truly point to it, the man was speaking ‘fluent redneck’.

  “You got it, LT.” Jacobs snapped a crisp salute. He spun a quick about-face and marched out of the headquarters tent and double-timed it back to the tent he shared with Lamb.

  Lamb was standing in front of his locker inspecting what few clean uniforms he had left, a towel wrapped around his waist when Jacobs came into the tent. “I got news from the LT!”

  “Yeah? Wazzat?” Lamb asked without looking up.

  “I’ll tell ya about after I wash the grit out of my ass.”

  Lamb followed Jake to the showers. “What’s the news? You can’t hold out on me, bro.”

  Jake tossed his towel over the edge of the shower door. “Another op. Wheels up at 0600 tomorrow.”

  “What?” Lamb was aghast. He turned on Jacobs. “What do you mean another op? We just got back off four days in the microwave!”

  “Don’t blow your wad at me, brother. It’s from DC, not the LT. And he doesn’t know any more than I just told you. He tried pulling in what few favors he had to find out. We’re all in the dark on this one. Hell, with our luck, we’re going from this hell to the fucking Antarctic!” With that he turned back and hit the shower valve letting the cool water flow over him.

  “Fuck!” Lamb threw a boot across the tent and knocked over his shave kit. “Shit!”

  “Throwing a hissy-fit won’t do any good,” Jacobs’ voice called from further out.

  “Fuck you and the white horse you rode in on.”

  “Hothead!” Jacobs retorted.

  Thirty minutes later, as both men lay on their cots, they contemplated the ramifications of their new orders. Both men had exemplary careers. Lamb had come from the East Coast originally, but being an Army brat and having no real place to call home, he joined the Navy to piss off his old man. The only thing that redeemed him in his old man’s eyes was when he became a Navy SEAL. The old man had been an Airborne Ranger and had spent the majority of his time barking orders both at work and at home. Lamb had been raised by his mother to be respectful not only of his father’s position, but of his temperament. But teenage boys tend to rebel and rebel he did. In spades. And when that fateful day came, Lamb was on the receiving end of the beating of his life. For a brief moment he actually thought he would hold his own until it became painfully obvious that the old man was holding back, taunting the younger Lamb into fighting harder, to prove himself to be worthy of the name.

  “You may be a Lamb, boy, but you’ll never be a Lamb led to slaughter!” his father said as he backhanded him across the face. “I’ll make a man out of you if I have to beat you to death.” And he nearly did. Had his mother not gotten between them, he might nearly have paid for his pride with his life. The old man was many things, but smart enough to know when to quit wasn’t one of them.

  Thankfully, one thing Sgt. Major Lamb would never do was raise a hand to a woman. And when Mrs. Lamb stepped between father and son, the beating stopped. She helped her son to his room and nursed his broken body as best she could. The next morning, Ronald Lamb was gone. No note, no goodbye, no ‘kiss my ass’, not even a thank you for his mom. He just packed a change of clothes into a small duffel and left. When the bank had opened the next morning, Ronald cleaned out his accounts and left town. It was three years later when Mrs. Lamb received her first letter from her only son, telling her that he’d joined the Navy and had just graduated BUDs. Her son was a newly minted SEAL. He was requesting permission to return home for Thanksgiving. It truly was a heartfelt reunion. And the first time in three years that his father hadn’t felt that his son hadn’t run away, but to something. Manhood.

  “You reckon we’ll get stateside?” Lamb asked.

  “Beats the
dog shit outta me, brother. Like I said, we could end up in Antarctica. Or fuckin’ Australia for all I know,” Jacobs replied.

  “Oh, wouldn’t that be the shit? Australia! Koala bears and kangaroos and shit. And what are those sticks you throw in the air and they come back to you?” Lamb asked.

  “What? You mean a boomerang?” Jacobs asked, wondering if he was serious.

  “Yeah, that’s the thing. And those funky ass tubes those little pygmies blow in to make that weird ass noise.”

  “Okay, moron, your brain has had too much exposure to the sun.” Jacobs said, standing up.

  “Asshole, I’m not Australian, and it’s not like I ever played with one,” Lamb shot back.

  “You don’t have to be a damned Aussie to know what a boomerang is, and they aren’t pygmies in Australia!” Jacobs accused.

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah!” Jacobs tried not to think of leaving the team behind. “I can’t wait to get stateside and crawl inside the biggest, coldest fucking beer I can find.”

  “Not me, pal. I haven’t had a drink since we got here and my system is cleaned out. I’m giving it up for good. I’m sick of the hangovers and bumming money from ya.”

  We’ll see how long this one lasts, buddy. You got more demons than Lucifer himself, pal. Jacobs thought as he lay down on his own cot. Although the shower had really helped to cool him off, the heat was still there, and he knew it was going to be rough trying to sleep tonight. Especially not knowing what tomorrow might bring.

  *****

  Robert Mueller pulled his Jeep CJ-7 into the driveway of his ex-wife’s house. His house before the divorce. He stared at the front yard, the porch, the mailbox, the awnings over the windows. He remembered how happy they were when they first found the house and how hard he and Barbara had worked as they practically rebuilt the cottage from the ground up. Somebody tell me again what I did wrong? All I did was try to love you, Babs, he told himself.

  He practically had to force himself to step out of the Jeep and reach into the rear to retrieve his son’s birthday present. Bobby was turning six today. Practically a carbon copy of his father, Bobby had sandy blonde hair, blue eyes and a cheesy grin that cut straight to his mom’s heart. Both looked like they would be more comfortable along the beach with surfboards in hand. Her ‘beach boys’ was Barbara Mueller’s pet name for them before the divorce. Now, she rarely said anything nice to Robert unless Bobby was present, and even then, she was barely able to keep a civil tongue in her mouth. It took Robert a long time to realize that she finally cracked under the pressure of being an Army wife. Her husband could be called out at any time, and not knowing when or if he would come home was just more than her fragile disposition could handle. So she did the only thing she knew to do. She turned on him. And in doing so, she all but destroyed him. She took the two things he held most dear. His wife and son.

  Robert approached the front door cautiously. For one of the military’s fiercest warriors, one might find it odd that he was trembling as he reached for the doorbell. Just before he could push the button, Barbara opened the door and stood staring at him accusingly with her hands on her hips. “Late again, I see.” The bitterness wasn’t missed in her voice.

  “I wasn’t sure of the time,” Robert said sheepishly, handing her Bobby’s gift.

  Even though he knew she was acting like a territorial bitch, she still looked beautiful to him. Her slender body fit perfectly in her shorts and tank top, and her short black hair kept her shoulders bare, and oh-so-kissable.

  “The party is almost over.” So you might as well leave. Robert assumed she meant. Her demeanor was anything but inviting and she made no move to invite him in to what once was home to both of them.

  “Then I guess I can just drop this off and leave. I was just hoping to see Bobby again,” Robert said, his eyes gazing into hers. “It’s been so long.” She isn’t budging.

  Barbara didn’t move. She kept herself wedged in the doorway, a veritable shield between father and son and his sixth birthday party. Robert waited for her to say something. Anything. But Barbara was stone. Just like her heart was when she met him at the door with the divorce papers. Fine. You want to be a bitch, be one. But I WILL see my son if I have to hire a lawyer to do it.

  “Here. Just please tell him it’s from me.” Robert pushed the gift at her so that she had to let go of the screen door to grab it and he turned to leave. As he approached his Jeep he felt Barbara’s hand grab him from behind and pull him around.

  “This isn’t fair to Bobby or to me for you to just show up whenever you feel like it and disrupt our lives.” She was shaking with anger, and Robert could tell that she was itching to bring back all of her previous arguments to stir up one doozy of a fight. But this was his son’s birthday and he simply wasn’t in the mood.

  “I don’t have a choice when I’m going to be in, you know that. And I don’t think you should be so shocked that I should show up for his birthday. Common sense would tell ya that it’s a parent’s right to be there to celebrate the birth of their offspring,” Robert replied, trying not to lose his temper.

  Barbara took a deep breath and rose to all of her five-foot, two inches and puffed up her ninety-eight pounds to point at his chest. To any passersby it might appear like a toy poodle dressing down a St. Bernard, but Barbara Mueller used to rule Robert with an iron fist, and she wasn’t going to stop trying to exercise that control now. She stood up to his six-foot, six-inch, two hundred and sixty pound muscle bound self without fear. “He’s your son not OFFSPRING!” she yelled.

  Robert sighed. “I’m not going to fight with you, Babs.” Robert turned and started to get in his Jeep.

  Barbara all but yelled at him, “My name is Barbara. You will address me as Barbara from now on!”

  Robert turned on her very slowly. For just a fleeting moment, Barbara felt a moment of panic thinking that she had actually pushed him too far and that he was going to hurt her. And she also felt, for that same fleeting moment, that she actually deserved it for the way she had been treating him and for the way she had been using Bobby as a tool to hurt Robert. But when Robert turned and she saw his face, she saw the twinkle in his eye and the cheesy grin on his face. He slowly closed the gap between them until there was barely a breath between them.

  He looked down on her and said softly, “You will always be MY Babs.”

  She barely had time to see his hands move as they wrapped around her waist and he picked her up to meet him eye-to-eye. He pulled her close, and before she knew what he was doing, he kissed her. Hard at first, then softening into the tender deliciousness she had almost forgotten. In shock, she wasn’t sure what to do. She had divorced him! He wasn’t supposed to do this! She began to hit at him, but it was like striking a stone wall. All she was accomplishing was hurting her fists. When he softened his kiss, she remembered why she married him in the first place. His grip lightened and he slid her slowly to the ground, her fists went from beating his chest to wrapping around his neck and how she ended up kissing him back, she doesn’t remember. How long they stood in the driveway kissing, she doesn’t know, but she knew that this was where she wanted to be. She felt safe again. He made her feel safe. Her mountain of a man holding her gently, kissing her, making her feel like she is the only woman in the world…this is what she truly wanted. The fight in her drained away as she let down her guard and opened her heart to him once again.

  Robert’s pager went off and she cursed softly beneath his mouth. No! This can’t be happening again. This is why I had to divorce you the first time. You can’t do this. You can’t. Don’t look at it. If you choose that damned pager…

  Robert pulled away from her to look at the pager. He cursed again and hung his head low. “I’m sorry, baby. I have to.”

  Barbara didn’t even know she was crying, but Robert reached up to wipe the tears from her eyes. The sadness in his eyes bore through to her very soul. If I could make it all better, I would. He cupped her face and reached in
for another kiss. She kissed him again, this time more desperately, her arms wrapping around his neck again holding on and squeezing herself against him.

  The pager buzzed again, and this time Barbara practically choked out a sob. “I love you so much, Babs. Tell Bobby I love him, too.” He kissed her once more on the tip of her nose.

  He mounted his Jeep and started it up. He looked out at her standing in the driveway and she stood there staring at him, tears streaming down her face. “You bring your ass home safe, Robert. Or I swear to God, I’ll dig up your corpse so I can kill you myself,” she whispered as his Jeep pulled from the curb.

  *****

  Jimmy ‘Tango Down’ Wallace didn’t appear to be much of a threat to the bikers in the bar, but there was still something about the little man that made them uneasy. TD, as he was known to his friends, was just trying to enjoy a cold beer and maybe shoot some pool, but the majority of the patrons in this shit-hole dive were already so inebriated and rowdy that he knew there would be trouble.

  At 5’8”, TD wasn’t large in stature, but he carried himself with a surety that was unmistakable. He was a no-nonsense kind of fellow made of tougher things than most could endure. He just looked like he was tougher than shoe leather, and the jagged scar running from his right brow and down his cheek added to the intensity the man carried. An Air Force Combat Controller for the last eight years, TD had spent as much time in the muck as any other spec ops warrior. He had fought evil all over the globe – from the Columbian drug lords to terrorist cells in Iraq, TD had seen or done most everything there was to do and still be able to walk away from it. He still recalled when the flight surgeon promised they could make him pretty again, he said, ‘Fuck it. Pain don’t last forever, and chicks dig scars.’ It may have been an old expression, but it definitely held true. TD was never much on looks prior to the incident that left him scarred, but afterward, the chicks certainly seemed more interested.