Fallen SEAL Legacy

by Sharon Hamilton

  Get a grip, Coop. You’re no whiny mama’s boy.

  A flood of revulsion came over him, tightening his stomach and sending stinging moisture to his eyes.

  Don’t be a fuckin’ crybaby.

  He worked to reduce his stress level by lowering his heartbeat. He took deep breaths as he accelerated and wound down out of the neighborhood of perfect homes.

  He became more comfortable in traffic along the Strand, heading back to Coronado. Home. Home to the Babemobile he’d left at the beach.

  He lowered the rear ramp of the motor home and stowed his scooter, closing the electric conveyor door behind him. Bay was barking incessantly. Coop let him out on the beach and watched as the dog raised his leg over a shrub in the parking lot. In seconds, the big brown pooch ran enthusiastically back and forth in the sand, and then to Coop’s side, begging to play.

  But Coop wasn’t in the mood. He took the dog inside, gave him some kibble and fresh water. He stripped off his shoes, dress slacks and button-down white shirt. Still shiny from disuse, the shoes hurt his feet. He threw everything into the corner with a satisfying thwat. Light was just beginning to dim outside. He donned his swim shorts, told Bay to stay put and promised he’d be back in a bit, locked the motor home, and ran across the warm sand. He dove into the surf, thankful to be back in the water, where he felt safe. Where the world was right.

  Cooper swam parallel to the shore, back and forth in one-mile lengths, like he had done hundreds of times before. He preferred the ocean here, rather than the inlet near base, which was full of debris, oil and gasoline residue. The cold water soothed his soul.

  Like a bee sting, he couldn’t shrug off the lack of respect Brownlee had for his fallen brother. It was so wrong on so many levels. At least he had a family.

  Big house. Doesn’t even understand how easily it all could be taken away. He thought about his mom patching his shirts with leftover pieces of shirting from discarded clothing. She even used to tie his shoelaces together to make whole ones, which got him in trouble with the kids at school. One time she’d asked his dad if the soap they got in a motel cost them extra, since she’d brought her own. They’d worked so hard for every penny they had, but everything they had was theirs. They owned it completely, outright.

  And now it was gone forever. As if it had never existed.

  The sun was sinking on the horizon. Coop sat for a few minutes to enjoy the view, letting salt water drip down his skin. The warm sand felt good as he buried his toes in it. It was going to be a clear night tonight. The stars would be out there in droves, like tourists in Heaven.

  The last crescent of bright salmon-colored sun melted into the watery horizon. It was a routine Coop liked to do every day he could: watch the sun die. In the remaining afterglow, he walked silently up the beach toward his silver home.

  Coop heard banging car doors and saw Fredo, Kyle, Armando and a new guy running towards him.

  “You are to get wet and sandy, sailor,” Kyle barked. His LPO looked serious as a heart attack but Fredo and Armando were still punching each other in the arm. The new guy, a handsome African-American who was almost Coop’s height, smiled with the biggest white teeth he had ever seen. He had the air of an officer. Career man all the way.

  Cooper tried to look relaxed, but he didn’t really want to be around anyone tonight.

  “I said, get your butt off the sand, or these motherfuckers are gonna bury you right here,” Kyle yelled back. He did a right good job imitating one of their BUD/S drill instructors .

  Coop just sat in the sand and pushed some of it over his wet legs.

  That was a call to action. The resulting sand fight lasted almost ten minutes. When it was all done, Cooper looked like a creature from a horror film, crusted with wet sand, Kyle had been pants’ed and was trying to pull up his cargos before tourists would get a look at his naked ass, Armando’s hair was wild and full of sand, and Fredo was swearing up a storm in Spanish, having broken one of his gold chains. He was on all fours looking for it in the orange light of dusk. The new guy had stayed out of it and was sitting on the step of Cooper’s motor home, looking neat and organized.

  On cue, the three of them got down and joined Fredo until Kyle found the chain and returned it to Fredo’s sandy palm.

  “First one to the surf doesn’t have to jump in,” Kyle yelled out. Everyone headed for the white water. Cooper turned and saw Kyle call out to their new Team guy. “C’mon LT. That means you t,oo.”

  So this guy was a new AOIC, Assistant Officer In Charge. Technically above Kyle’s rank on the Teams, he would be learning all he could from the capable Team 3 LPO.

  The new guy looked very by-the-book prissy. The horrified expression on his face egged the guys on. They catcalled him until he started to run. And man, the guy could run! He beat Kyle by a good ten yards, but stood just outside the surf. Like everyone else, the new guy tossed his shoes and dove in.

  The five of them formed a school and swam down the water’s edge just past the surf, parallel to the shore. Coop was already winded from his earlier swim, so he let Kyle win, but normally he’d almost be able to lap them. But, God, he needed this. He needed the sand. He needed to exhaust himself playing in the water.

  As they completed their swim and walked back up the beach, Kyle turned to Coop, and his stomach clenched. He knew the questions would start in now. He just wanted to crash in bed, but no, his Team leader had other plans. “You okay, Coop? I expected a call from you.”

  “Talked to you yesterday, Landmine.” Just like all the rest of the guys, Kyle Lansdowne’s name was morphed into anything that resembled his former pronunciation, Lannie, Landing Gear, Landmine, being the favored. Calling him Lannie would earn you a punch in the arm, if you were lucky.

  “You know what the hell I mean.”

  “I was visiting that family Timmons asked me to go see.”

  “Uh huh,” Kyle answered, taking deep gulps of air. “I don’t hear from you and I worry. You wouldn’t want me to worry, now, would you, Coop?”

  “Nothing to worry about,” Coop hoped his words would give Kyle a warning to let it go. He didn’t want to talk about anything right now.

  “Well, normally, Armando’s the one I would be worrying about.”

  “Me?” Armando asked, feigning innocence. “I always find my way back home.”

  “Now, Daisy was making some serious moves on Tootsie Roll over here,” Kyle said pointing his thumb to the new guy. “And I knew she wouldn’t do that unless you said it was cool, and all.”

  “She doesn’t owe me anything—”

  All three of Coop’s buddies began to whistle.

  “Now I’m really worried,” said Kyle. “So you haven’t been fucked since you came back from Nebraska, I take it?”

  Coop hesitated before answering, which earned him more whistles and cat calls. “Almost, but no.” Coop smirked as he recalled the look on Cora’s face when he’d left her. None of the guys would ever believe he’d actually walked away. He wanted that to remain a secret, too.

  “That’s just not natural, Coop. See, what did I tell you about all that tofu and shit.” Fredo leaned into him and, with a whisper finished his thought, “Makes you soft, man.”

  Everyone laughed, including Cooper. Even Jones was shaking his head.

  “Nothing wrong with my dick,” Cooper said.

  “I don’t want to know what you’re thinking about. An old married man like me can’t have such ideas. I might get a heart attack.”

  They stopped outside Cooper’s door.

  “I’m ordering you to the Scupper tonight, ‘kay?” Kyle said.

  Fredo stepped forward, “Yeah, Coop. You gonna let us shower at your place first?”

  “Fuck no.” He knew the hot water wouldn’t last and he’d have to fill up the propane tank afterwards.

  Kyle put his arm around the Mexican SEAL. “Fredo, we’re going over to your place. That way we can wash our pants, too. Besides, I’ve got to iron my money until it’
s dry.”

  “Oh shit, that’s right,” Armando swore. “My new wallet is toast.” He pulled a dark shriveled piece of leather from the Velcro pocket on the front of his cargo pants.

  Kyle turned to Cooper. “One hour. That’s an order.”

  “Roger that.”

  Coop took a longer shower than normal. He usually tried to make his propane tank last for two months, but tonight he didn’t care. With the anger worked out of him, his mind went to the vixen he’d met today at the doc’s house. All auburn hair and red pouty lips. He smacked his forehead with his palm while he was shaving, making a splat of the white soap on his mirror.

  “Holy shit,” he said to his Santa Claus image. She was the babe at the Aquarium. Just a week ago, which now seemed like last century, he and Fredo had taken a trip to Silicon Valley to buy his new drone from that dork inventor. They’d taken a detour to the Monterey Bay Aquarium, where he’d seen her, and then again when they stopped to do some laps in the bay before heading back to San Diego.

  His little brain was doing pushups and had turned on the rock music in his head, getting ready to par-tay. Coop remembered falling asleep in the cheap motel, thinking about what the top of her head would look like while she gave him a blow job. Well, to be honest with himself, he fantasized about what it would feel like, too.

  He picked up the slacks and the white shirt, now wrinkled. He only owned one good outfit so he carefully pressed them against the bed with his hands, and then hung them up on the same hangar. His closet was nearly bare. Except for the gun cases and duty bags stuffed into the end of the small space. Who needed clothes when you had enough equipment and weapons to start a small war?

  Maybe he could crawl out of the cave he’d fallen into. Maybe there could be life at the end of the dark tunnel. Maybe he could make up some excuse to see her again.

  God, I hope so.

  The Scupper was slow tonight, since it wasn’t a weekend. Above the bar were pictures of fallen SEALs, the dates and locations of their demise. When he was first on the Teams, he didn’t like to look at them. He was surprised when, like most the other Team guys who hung out there, he got so that he liked looking at them, paying his respects. God willing, if he should have to pay that ultimate sacrifice, there would be some young newbie Team guy staring up at his picture, toasting him with a beer, or, as in his case, a mineral water.

  Coop’s eyes stung. Maybe there was too much cigarette smoke tonight. He winced and looked over the sparse crowd. No sign of Kyle and the others yet, so he ordered his regular mineral water with lots of ice and lime and leaned against the bar. A big screen TV was tuned to a basketball game he had no interest in watching.

  He fished a couple sugar packets from the counter, along with a small handful of toothpicks, and stuck them in his shirt pocket. He fiddled with the drips of condensation easing their way down his tall glass.

  He used to get plastered here on a regular basis when he was on SEAL Team 5. He’d just come back with his BUD/S swim buddy from a refresher course at Bragg on amputations in the field. He remembered it was bothering him a little more than it should have. His buddy had gotten a Dear John letter from his girlfriend in Florida, so they were celebrating their “freedom.” Truth was, his friend was pretty torn up about it. But they were laughing at all the stupid things they’d told girls they’d dated. The Frog Hogs, girls that liked SEALs any way they could get them. Coop knew Gary was on the lookout for a lovely to take his mind off his pain. Tonight the pickings were slim.

  “You have the softest skin,” Coop had said in falsetto.

  “I love rubbing your ass,” Gary had one-upped him.

  “I’m a one-girl guy,” Coop continued. They both laughed, even though Coop knew it was true.

  Several others from Team 5 came in. After getting almost too drunk to walk, someone got the harebrained idea to go for a swim.

  Zeke had gone for some Chinese take-out and some brews, but the rest of them headed to the beach. They horsed around until the food and drink showed up, and then they ate their fill. Everyone decided to shed their clothes and go in the water stark naked. Cooper had forgotten to take off the wristwatch his dad had given him, so came out of the water to put it in his shorts. He laughed watching his Team buds splashing in the surf and acting like ten-year-olds.

  After that, everything went to hell. Gary was in the water too long. He’d had a reaction to shellfish in the food and wound up in a full-blown cardiac arrest. And there wasn’t a damned thing any of them could do about it, although God knows they tried.

  Dumb shit must have known he’d get a reaction to the seafood. He couldn’t believe it was anything but a horrible, pathetic accident, exacerbated by the alcohol.

  Coop found himself in a cave of depression he almost went to a shrink about. Didn’t want it on his record, so he held off. He just couldn’t look at the guys he’d spent Gary’s last night on the beach with again without getting torn up inside. He asked for a reassignment and it was granted ten days later. And he never took a drink again.

  Rest in Peace, Gary. He finished off his mineral water and started chewing ice, which meant he was nervous as hell.

  I need to go home. He needed a good rest. His muscles were going to be sore with two PTs today, and all the roughhousing they’d done at the beach.

  Kyle and the new guy entered the bar.

  “Sorry we’re late. Good to see you here, Coop.” Kyle slapped him on the back and took a stool next to him. The new guy sat on the other side.

  “Fredo get a date?”

  “He’s over at Mia’s with Armani.”

  “Good for him.” Fredo had a major crush on Armando’s wild child little sister. Coop looked at the new guy. “We haven’t been introduced properly. I’m Calvin Cooper,” he said when he extended his hand over the bar, in front of Kyle.

  “Malcolm Jones.” The guy was handsome as hell. Big, strong hands.

  “You’re that guy,” Kyle said.

  “What guy?” asked Malcolm.

  “‘I’m your father, Luke.’ That guy.”

  Jones grinned.

  “Malcolm here is giving us a tryout. Graduated top of his class at the Academy.” Kyle’s eyes sparkled in the light of the television over the bar.

  Cooper whistled. “Gimme your arm then, Darth Vader.” Coop said to Jones.

  “Come on?” the handsome Lieutenant asked.

  “Your arm. I gotta see if you got the mark.” Cooper was going to rub it in.

  Jones rolled his eyes and presented his bare left forearm. Cooper guffawed. “That’s what I thought. A virgin.”

  This upset Jones, who gave an angry scowl. “What the fuck you sayin’? I’m no virgin.”

  Kyle helped, “You don’t have the tats. Everyone on our team gets the frog prints from here to here.” He pointed from his wrist to the inside of his elbow.

  Cooper added, “Except in your case, they’re gonna have to do it twice so it will show up.”

  “I got tats,” Jones spat out with a frown.

  “Yeah? Where?” Kyle asked.

  Jones pulled down the polo shirt collar to reveal an anchor tat on his bicep.

  Cooper and Kyle burst out laughing. Jones quickly covered up. Kyle added, “Nobody in the Navy Special Forces gets anchors. That’s for fleet scum. Didn’t they teach you that at the Academy?”

  Jones focused back on his beer and there was a long pause.

  “Where you from, Malcolm?” Coop asked. He could tell they’d maybe rubbed the guy too hard about the tats.

  “Texas. Folks still live there,” Jones said without making eye contact.

  Cooper took in air quickly. His hands trembled. His old instinct of reaching for a beer came back and he took on some ice cubes, starting to crunch them down loudly.

  “Sorry, Coop. Heard about your people. Real sorry for your loss, man.” Jones was trying to be a good guy, but Coop was too pained to look back at him.

  The three of them were quiet, not looking at each other.


  “Well, aren’t we a pathetic sack of bones? Kinda reminds us of the old Team guys trying to relive their glory days.” Kyle said, leaning first toward Cooper and then Malcolm.

  “Yeah,” Coop whispered. “Look, man, I’m dog tired. Beat as all hell. I had a good swim before you guys showed up. Even went surfing early this morning. And I’m afraid I’m terrible company.”

  Jones was staring into his beer. Coop knew he felt bad about bringing his family up, but the guy was just being nice.

  “I can trust you to go home?” Kyle asked.

  “I’m okay. Sorry I wasted your evening, Landmine.”

  “Oh, hell, don’t be. Christy has designs on my body.”

  Coop laughed and knew it was probably completely true.

  “I shouldn’t be here, but just wanted to make sure you were taken care of, Coop.” He paused and then asked, “Daisy coming over?”

  That got Jones’s attention. “Not anymore. Understand she has her sights on some chocolate,” Coop answered and nodded to Jones.

  He’d never thought he’d be able to see a black man blush, but Jones sure as hell did.

  “First you let her work on your arm, get you those nice little frog prints,” Kyle said as he whispered to Jones just loud enough so Cooper could hear. “She has the best hands. Let her pick out another tattoo for you and let her place it, too. She loves that. Then you let her work on your dick.”

  Cooper almost spit out his soda.

  “I’m not really into that stuff,” Jones replied.

  Cooper and Kyle stared at the man.

  “I’m not gay or anything. Hey, guys—I just kinda like to get to know a girl a little better, that’s all.”

  Both Coop and Kyle commented in unison, “Why?”

  They all laughed. Coop knew they could trash talk all they wanted to about women, but most Team guys respected them more than they would ever admit in public.

  Coop said his goodbyes, thanked his LPO again for trying to babysit him. With Kyle’s new little one at home, this was a sacrifice, he knew. His Team leader rarely hung out at the SEAL bars anymore.