by Zoe Dawson
“You hear from her?”
“No, not much. She’s going pretty deep undercover. I wouldn’t want to jeopardize her safety.”
“Copy that. She’s courageous and good at her job.”
“I know.”
Max signaled Wendy, and she got up from her chair. “Look at that. Wendy doesn’t have a partner,” Max said with a grin.
“Do I have to worry about lime and a shovel, too?” He rose when she came over and they went out to the dance floor. Max wasn’t concerned about Hemingway. He was in love with someone else. Wendy was safe.
Anna on the other hand…
One Year Later
Hemingway was back in Coronado after his twenty-six weeks of SEAL Qualification Training. His graduation was only an hour and a half away. His sister, brother-in-law, niece and father would be here in a half an hour so they could take him out to breakfast. He’d received a package with no return address, plain brown wrapper, addressed to him at the base. He sat down, fully dressed in his uniform, shaved, spit and polished. He’d been waiting on this day for what seemed like forever.
He, Milo “Professor” Prescott, Adrian “Rock” Lane, Matt “Easy,” Hitchcock, William Brown, and Benjamin Vincent, his boat crew, had all made it through SQT. Professor and Lane were going to Team Seven, Easy to Team Eight on the East Coast where the SEALs were housed at the Joint Expeditionary Base Little Creek-Fort Story. Hemingway was going to Team Seven as well—Fast Lane’s team. He was ecstatic that he’d be working with Mad Max, Dodger, Pitbull, and the rest of the guys. He couldn’t have asked for a better draft. They had shown up to rescue him from SERE training—Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape.
He opened the package and the box inside to find a brand-new pair of UDT shorts.
Shea. A ripple of pain knifed him, even as the humor lifted him.
He read the card. I had to wrestle Daisy for your dukes…er…UDT shorts, but in the end, she said you had such a nice ass, she would concede. She’d drawn a smiley face, and he chuckled. Congratulations, Special Operator Sinclair!
She’d sketched a little flower after that with a blue center and pink petals, and his heart turned over in his chest. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t think about her, miss her. There was very little contact and usually on her terms because she was so deep undercover.
He’d been on his share of journeys after finishing First Phase, consisting of a lot of classroom work, moving onto Second Phase: combat diving, which he loved, and Third Phase: Land Warfare Training. He was a natural with a weapon and the instructor recommended him as a sniper. Then they’d had the graduation ceremony with just the candidates and instructors. Even Kyle and Vile congratulated him and after a couple of drinks in him, Cheezer said he was one of the best to come his way as an instructor.
After a week of leave, Hemingway headed over to the northeast side of the base to attend SQT, away from the Center and BUD/S. Training was intense with medical and navigation, then it was on to the NSW Mountain Warfare Training Facility at La Posta east of San Diego in the Laguna Mountains. After he earned his expert weapons qualification, it was back to Coronado and close quarter defense training. Then one hundred and thirty-five miles east of San Diego, he learned desert training at Camp Billy Machen, NSW Desert Training Facility. Then it was back to combat swimming in San Diego Bay. Hemingway remembered the sixty-degree water…maybe not fondly. Finally, jump school with his classmates, where they turned him into a helicopter, HAHO and HALO badass paratrooper. He loved jumping out of perfectly good helos and airplanes. The tests had been easy, since classwork was always something he excelled at.
He set the card back into the box, his heart heavy. He’d heard about finding the one, that elusive person who would make him feel complete, but he had always thought it was just bullshit, to be honest. Now he was the one eating crow.
It was clear that Shea wasn’t coming back to him. They didn’t need to have the awkward conversation. She didn’t ever talk about it or bring it up during the few short moments he’d talked to her. She did say she was sorry that she’d had to leave so abruptly, but they had both known it was coming.
What they had was over, for her at least. He wondered if it had been that easy for her, like when she’d walked out of his hotel room.
He got hard remembering that first time.
He didn’t want to mar this day, so he smiled and compartmentalized his pain at losing the first woman he’d ever loved. The knock at his door made him close the box, gather the wrappings and tuck it under his bed.
His sister was working part-time for NCIS. She probably knew Shea, and he didn’t want to field questions or receive sympathy. He’d gotten enough after the NWO had trapped them in the BUD/S classroom. Paige had been beside herself, and when she’d shown up at Coronado, demanding to see him, she was horrified at the shape he was in. He’d let her mother him a little, but he had to get back to training.
The look in his sister’s eyes said it all. She was realizing that he wasn’t a little boy anymore, that training had strengthened him and changed him. He knew who he was, and what he was doing. It was that understanding between them that got her to get in her car and drive back home to her husband and daughter. Later, when he’d talked briefly to Kid, he said that she’d come home from seeing Hemingway and wrapped her arms around her husband. Then she’d told Ashe Wilder how proud she was of Kid Chaos, what he’d gone through, and how he kept going out every day to keep the country safe.
Hemingway knew his sister saw him as a grown man now. Maybe for her that was bittersweet. He was the last one out of the house, but she could console herself with her daughter and the other children she was sure to have with Kid. Her love for him had been the foundation from which he’d gotten all his values. He was very thankful that she had been the one to instill them in him and his dad, once he’d gotten over his pain and grief from losing their mom. Now he was wondering if anyone ever got over it completely.
Hemingway opened the door and Paige bustled in with Chloe on her hip. She’d grown so much, but still held out her arms to him. He took her, and she kissed him on the cheek.
“H’unkle Atty,” she said.
“That’s all she kept saying the whole way over,” Paige said, hugging him and giving him a kiss on the cheek.
“Yeah, when she wasn’t yelling doggie or fishy,” Kid said with a grin.
“Hey, she’s brilliant,” Hemingway said.
“Son,” his father said, shaking his hand. He was moving a little stiffly, and Hemingway looked at his sister with concern.
“He insists on working the garden for all hours. This after landscaping for hours. The man loves his plants. There’s no stopping him.”
“Keeps me young,” he said with a smile. “We ready to begin this momentous day?”
“Yeah, I’m ready to go. There’s a great place downtown.”
“Wherever, but I wouldn’t mind Hotel del. They have a great buffet,” Paige said.
“Sounds good to me. Chow is good in the hall, but Hotel del is perfect.”
Breakfast was fun as Chloe babbled, talked and charmed the waiters. Hemingway didn’t eat as much as he usually did due to the excitement that was churning in his gut.
SQT graduation was held in the SQT Building at Coronado, where family and friends had gathered to congratulate the graduates. With an American flag behind the podium and the class number spelled out with tridents on a board, Hemingway had left his family to go and muster with the twenty men who had finished training.
Also present in the group were several team COs and command master chiefs.
Standing in the midst of his boat crew, Hemingway was so proud of them all that they hadn’t crumbled under the pressure of cold, wet, sandy, rock portage, surf passage, drownproofing, O-course, swims, runs, mud, sleep deprivation, aches, pains, chaffing, bruises, cuts and abrasions.
Every minute had been worth it. He was standing here about to receive his trident. Professor grinned
at him. “Do you think they’re just going to pin it right to our bare chest?”
Hemingway laughed. “Ah, what’s a little stick and a little blood. We’re SEALs!”
“Hoo-yah,” the whole group shouted.
The ceremony started with the first of three speakers, all SEAL operators with the usual welcome speech and a reminder to his class that they were now SEALs, and the next time they came out of the surf, it would be as an operational member of Special Forces. He finished off with “Stay focused, train hard, be professional. Always maintain your personal integrity and the integrity of the team. Congratulations and good luck.”
The next speaker was introduced as the one who would tell them about the trident they were about to be pinned with.
“We have worn this badge since 1970. It’s a one of a kind specialty pin worn by both enlisted and officers. It’s a symbol of our brotherhood. We train and fight as one team. The trident is composed of four parts, each a symbol of our warfare community.
“The anchor represents the Navy, our branch of service, the most powerful and encompassing force on this planet that patrols the seas, and tantamount to maintaining world peace. The anchor is old tying us, with its history, to the courageous actions of the Naval Combat Demolition Units and Underwater Demolition Teams. We never forget where we came from.
“The trident, which Neptune, or Poseidon, Ruler of the Oceans carries, is this three-pronged spear, and we are the tip of that spear. The might of the ocean is vast and a harsh environment for any warrior, except the frogmen who understand it, embrace it, seek refuge in it and find it their perfect operating environment.
“The flintlock, cocked and set to fire, shows our readiness to direct action on land. We as gunslinging door kickers are prepared to fight at a moment’s notice.
“The eagle flies with the anchor, clutching the flintlock and trident in it claws. This embodies our emblem of freedom, indicating that we are masters of the air, swift and sure in our mission that’s as natural as breathing. Our inclination for military insignias is to depict the eagle, head aloft, but on our symbol, the eagle’s head bows to show that humility is the touchstone of a SEAL’s might.
“SEALs undertake missions from fixed wing aircraft, helicopters, ships and submarines, environments from arctic, desert, jungle, or enemy controlled areas and all water conditions, administrative and foreign training missions, including your very own BUD/S instructors, in a wide variety of climates anywhere in the world. You sacrifice your free time, family time, friends’ time. These are the men we’re graduating today.”
Listening to these words, he was sure he wasn’t the only one who’s eyes were misting and throat tight with not only the emotion of belonging to an elite and respected fighting force, but the understanding of the significance and trust that would soon be pinned to his chest.
“You are all now inducted into a noble institution with a singular badge that unites us all in brotherhood. The tridents that we will pin to your uniform in a few moments are the legacy of Naval Special Warfare. There will be two names on the diploma we hand you, yours and a teammate who was lost in battle. That name will also be engraved on the K-bar knife you will be presented with. Do your fallen teammate proud. Take a moment to reflect on all our fallen brothers who gave their last breaths and very lifeblood to their oath. Be proud of your accomplishments, but also, never forget those who have sacrificed everything. Keep honor and integrity your watchwords and never tarnish the reputation and tradition you inherit. Be that SEAL every day and earn this trident every day. Welcome to the brotherhood. Welcome to the teams!”
Hemingway closed his eyes and bowed his head, offering up his determination and strength to work hard to earn the honor he was receiving today. He and the men standing with him had been the ones to forge ahead and never quit, through adversity and pain they had formed into one solid team. It wasn’t just a BUD/S mentality, but the mindset of every SEAL who drew breath. Brothers in arms, brothers in creed, brothers in sweat and brothers in blood. And, the tip of the spear would always be sharp. SEALs were never out of the fight.
“As you join your platoon, I wish you good luck and good hunting. Now you will be presented with your tridents.”
He began calling out names starting with the officers, and there was one in particular that made him beam with pride to have been part of his boat crew.
“Special Operator and SEAL Team Seven, Lieutenant junior grade Adrian Foster Lane.”
Then they moved onto the enlisted. He smiled as they called out “Special Operator and SEAL Team Eight, Petty Officer Third Class, Matthew James Hitchcock. Special Operator and SEAL Team Seven, Petty Officer Third Class Milo Steven Prescott.”
Finally, it was Hemingway’s turn.
“Special Operator and SEAL Team Seven, Petty Officer Third Class Atticus David Sinclair.”
He walked up to the podium, received his diploma and knife. The Commanding Officer of the Navy Warfare Center pinned the trident above the left breast pocket of his uniform.
“Good job, young man.”
“Thank you, sir. It’s an honor.”
As the twenty of them funneled through to the end, the CO got back up on the podium and said, “Now is the time we normally name our honor man, but this BUD/S class rotation has been more than just routine. During our training we were required to deal with terrorists. To that end, one of our NCIS agents tirelessly worked behind the scenes to protect our candidates and instructors from harm. We will be naming two people here. The first woman to ever be presented with an honorary trident at one of NSW’s ceremonies, Naval Criminal Investigative Service, Special Agent Shea Palmer, our honor woman. It was her brilliant deduction, quick thinking, and exemplary service that saved all of our candidates lives that day.”
Hemingway couldn’t believe his eyes when Shea, dressed in a beautifully tailored navy-blue suit and white blouse, rose from the audience. She was still gorgeous in a kickass way, and more striking than he remembered. Her vibrancy showed through in her stunning dark eyes, her hair pulled severely back in a long ponytail, glinting like obsidian in the sunlight. The room was silent except for the tap of her blue high heels against the concrete. When she reached the CO, he pinned the trident to the left side of her jacket.
“The honor man for this graduating class is a commendable, hardworking, courageous member of our SEAL Team. He showed time and again that commitment to excellence, leadership, and humility are in our genetic code. Please rise and acknowledge Honor Man, SO Atticus David Sinclair.”
It took a moment for him to absorb it was his name being called. Professor nudged him. “Man, that’s you. Go.”
He rose, still disbelieving. As he walked up to the podium, he looked back at his teammates and his family. His sister was openly crying, his dad looking so proud he was about to bust, but it was the look in Kid’s eyes that almost did him in. He had been his friend, mentor, brother-in-law and a pain in his ass throughout this process, but now…now he was one of them, and it was more than he could have imagined it would be. Overcome, he worked to keep his composure.
He accepted the plaque from the CO and shook his hand. He turned and met Shea’s eyes. Her heart was showing in her gaze, and he had to remain neutral or he would break down. Overwhelmed at seeing her, overwhelmed by the day, he wanted to find a private place to expend all his emotions. They walked back to their seats, but before they parted, she slipped something into his hand. He sat down in his seat as the CO said, “Congratulations and welcome to the brotherhood.” It was a Hotel del room key.
After a hardy hoo-yah, they could only celebrate this occasion one way—the Navy SEAL way. They headed for the ocean at a dead run, racing to the pier, and leaping into San Diego Bay. Of course, there was more. Together they came out of the sea, stripped off their BDUs and in their UDT shorts, got back into the water for a quarter-mile swim from the mouth of Glorietta Bay to the Coronado Golf Course. Then a safety boat crewmember handed him his socks, boots, and T-shirt for a
six-mile run around Coronado, landing at Gator Beach on the Pacific Ocean side of the Naval Amphibious Base where their SQT instructors had a barbecue waiting for them with steaks, a keg of beer and soft drinks. They were now SEALs, officially members of this fraternity.
He partied with his teammates, knowing this was the last time they would be able to do that as a team. He would miss every single one of the guys but looking to the future and his operations would be his next big push. The trident takes on its true meaning after many deployments–when you are no longer the FNG.
Lieutenant Bowie “Ruckus” Cooper, Master Chief Wes “Cowboy” McGraw, Lieutenant Ford “Fast Lane” Nixon and Petty Officer Errol “Pitbull” Ballantine were there along with East Coast SEAL Team Eight and Hitchcock’s new leaders, Lieutenant Michael “Tex” Penn, a dark-haired, broad-shouldered badass from Texas. He and Cowboy got along very well. Then there was his second in command, Master Chief Angelo “Bondo” Zane, who really got along well with gearhead Fast Lane. He was bald, built like Vin Diesel, his very presence demanding attention. Hemingway had never laughed so hard at their stories in his life.
As the party wound down, Shea’s hotel card was burning a hole in his pocket. He headed down the beach toward the hotel, walking in the night air, embracing the last moments of being in Coronado before he moved on to three weeks of cold weather training in Kodiak, Alaska.
The beautiful hotel was ablaze with lights as he approached. He was still a little damp, a little sandy, but that was all right with him. He went inside and up to the floor where her room was. Eager to see her, he wasn’t sure how she was going to react to seeing him. But he was encouraged by the fact that she had given him her room key.
He used it to open the door. The room was dim, the sliding glass doors open, letting in the sea and salt tainted air. There was movement on the terrace, and Shea, dressed in a bikini and white gauzy cover up, bright against her tanned skin, said, “Hello, sailor. Care to drop your anchor for a bit?”
