SEAL Forever

by Anne Elizabeth

  “Sparkles?”

  “You know,” she said between licks of her ice cream cone. “Fairy dust and wings and pink feathers and…and…maybe some rhinestones to your leg. You need to have lots of diamonds.”

  “Ah…” He had no idea how to answer. Shock had frozen his brain.

  “What’s going on?” Maura leaned around his arm, tugging him slightly off balance, but he held his ground. “Hi.” She grinned at the girls. “Yum. That looks good! What are you eating?”

  “Mango,” said the six-year-old. “It’s my favorite. Want a lick?”

  Declan couldn’t hide his smile any longer. “No, thanks. I’m not an ice-cream person.”

  “Gelato,” said the three-year-old as she stamped her foot. “I finished mine already. I think you should add tiny baby dolls and stuffed koalas to that. Feathers would look silly on a boy!”

  Kids. They are so pure, and that innocence made everyone smile.

  “Michelle. Mary Louise. What are you up to?” said a gruff voice from the other side of him.

  Coming around them and stepping behind the two girls appeared Rear Admiral Richard King with his wife, Carly. “Swifton, good to see you.” His arm shot out over the heads of the two girls, and the two men shook hands briefly.

  “Rear Admiral King, I’d like to present Maura Maxwell.” Here he was in public, with no choice but to deal with the situation. King was a hero in the Teams, a veteran of World War II and a member of the Scouts and Raiders, which were predecessors to SDV (Swimmer Delivery Vehicle), UDT (Underwater Demolition Team), and SEAL Team itself. Listening to the legend talk was like being transported back in time and dropped in the middle of the fight. So many life lessons…and a lot of generosity with that wisdom.

  “Richard, please.” The Rear Admiral wrangled the girls, wrapping a large hand around each of their small ones.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Nice to meet you, Richard,” said Maura as she stepped up to stand beside Declan. “I think I’ve met your wife, Carly. She came in last week looking at programs for…these little ladies, I believe.”

  “Great-Grandpa, I want more,” said the three-year-old, tugging on his hand.

  “You’ve had two flavors and that’s the limit, right, Declan?” said the Rear Admiral.

  “Yes.” Declan nodded in automatic agreement. “Though…I haven’t had my flavors. Maybe they could split them.”

  “Yes! Yes!” shouted the girls as the Rear Admiral rolled his eyes.

  “Come on then. Let’s get in line. Swifton here is going to help you girls pick them.”

  * * *

  The drive home was pleasant. Declan found it strange to still be smiling, but looking in the side-view mirror confirmed it. He laughed. He’d survived Maura’s version of fun and walked around in public without having anyone criticize or ostracize him. Hell, even if they did, those jerks would be assholes. What were people with challenges supposed to do, live in a hole and only come out at night?

  Awareness hit him. Shit! Is that what I was avoiding?

  Hell, no, he was made of tougher stuff. Anyone who had survived spec-ops training knew worse. Sitting in your own excrement for four days topped the list. Way ahead of a fear of being seen in public. But the mirror showed the truth again. He was different now; his body felt foreign to him and he hadn’t figured it out. He was nervous about going out without knowing how to handle himself. So he’d keep pushing himself until he could overcome that.

  As they drove past the Amphibious Base, he knew that all the crap in his mind was just a distraction. His real fear was not being able to be an active-duty SEAL anymore.

  Looking down at his leg, he knew he’d be benched, and given the military’s current policy of Reduction in Force, he would most likely get a medical separation from the SEALs or, rather, be retired with an honorable and/or medical discharge.

  Bam! His hand slammed down on the door rest. He did not want to be RIFed, dammit!

  “Hey, take it easy on the upholstery. I know it’s pleather, but I’m fond of it just the same.” She was teasing him.

  Shit! I don’t want someone to lift my spirits. I need a job. My job!

  Maura pulled the car over to the side of the road and touched his shoulder lightly. “Declan…talk to me.”

  He looked at her. It was hard to hide the tears in his eyes. “I don’t want to stop being a SEAL. This is it. This is all I ever wanted for my life.”

  “Then fight for it!”

  “How?” He needed a path. “You make it sound so simple.”

  “I never said battling for anything would be easy. But you need to decide what you want and go for it with all of the gusto you previously had.” Maura’s eyes held such an earnest emotion, she obviously believed her words wholeheartedly.

  He shook his head, but nothing could shake off his emotion or frustration. “Who am I without the Teams?”

  “I don’t know.” She tilted her head to the side. “Isn’t it a good time to find out?” She pulled the car back into traffic, and they were soon speeding down the Silver Strand.

  She was right. Desire—true want—for something pure and real could take an individual to his or her goal. He’d seen it happen, and he’d done it when he joined the Navy, zipped through Boot Camp, and survived BUD/S training.

  His hand stroked along the top of his leg and then touched the top of the prosthetic. I’m still me. Right? He realized that the biggest reason he hadn’t engaged in contact with others had more to do with how other people’s viewpoints challenged his own. He’d been reluctant to face his inner demon—he was the hurdle—and this giant frustration had to go before he could achieve anything, let alone happiness.

  Chapter 15

  Declan rose with a renewed hope. Today would be different than the endless weeks he’d spent sitting in his apartment. This morning he was joining the physical therapy course, and he was oddly jazzed about it.

  He grabbed his wallet and keys and hightailed it out of the apartment before Maura woke up. Needing to do this his way, he’d planned the whole morning without her. Though he appreciated her help and the way she lovingly cared for him, he had to face this battle on his own.

  The ride to Rehab Center was quick. Interstate 5 was barely buzzing with traffic yet.

  Pulling up in front of the center, he was surprised to see the place lit up and alive with activity. Several men in wheelchairs with service dogs were sitting outside. It looked like they were waiting for rides.

  Declan got out and strode through the automatic double doors. His senses were assaulted by the bustle. Nurses, docs, men, women, animals—this place was hopping, and as he checked in, he decided he liked the vibe. The place smelled clean and he could see through to a large gym where individuals rehabbed on pieces of equipment.

  It would have been so easy to go down the negative route as he stood here people watching. Instead he preferred to concentrate on hope and the ability to move on with his life.

  “Swifton,” said a man about Declan’s size with a Marine Corps tattoo on his bicep. “This way. You’re active duty?”

  “Yes, and I’d like to stay that way.” Declan stood and followed him through the maze of hallways to a consultation room. “Retired?”

  “Yes. It’s better than I thought it would be.” As the Marine closed the door, Declan sat down at the chair next to a desk. “I’m Joe Logen. You can call me Joe. I have your records. Seems like you were reluctant to begin treatment. Can you explain why?” The Marine put down the manila folder with Declan’s name on it.

  There was nothing Declan hated more than having to give a reason. Still, this wasn’t his program. He knew he had to play by their rules for a time, because there was stuff he sought to learn. “I had aspects of my home life to deal with.”

  “Is that handled?”

  “Yes.”

  The M
arine stared at him as if he was judging Declan against some invisible ruler. “You’ll be expected to make all of your appointments, barring medical emergency, and in that case, your doctor will contact us directly. If you skip, we’ll take that to mean you don’t want to be here. Understood?”

  Declan nodded. Those eyes were holding tough, and Declan resisted the urge to smile. That was the way Marines were, tough sons-a-bitches! And they knew it. Not that a SEAL wouldn’t enjoy challenging him.

  “We’ll get you started. I’m going to make a list of exercises today. Ask me any questions you have while you’re doing them. You will need to make progress to stay in your slot. We have a long waiting list. Active duty always jumps to the front, but that doesn’t mean you deserve it more than our retired or former military,” said Logen. “We’ll start with a tour and then you can start sweating your balls off.”

  * * *

  Damn, that Marine wasn’t kidding! His body hadn’t ached this much since Hell Week at BUD/S.

  Visions of sitting around for weeks on end recovering from surgeries and drinking beer flashed across Declan’s internal View-Master, and he had to acknowledge that he had a major hand in his current situation. It was going to be a long slog to complete this program.

  “Hold it, Squid,” said Logen, teasing the SEAL. They’d developed a decent camaraderie back at the pull-up bar when the two of them had competed for the highest score.

  “I was just finding my rhythm, ya Jarhead,” Declan joked back.

  “Listen, we’re over our time, about a half an hour late. Declan, you did significantly better than I thought. Good work. I’ll see you in two days. Remember to hydrate and stay away from beer,” Joe tagged on as he grinned.

  “Crap! You could have said chocolate.”

  “Yeah, that too.” Joe leaned down and added, “At least I didn’t take away the bedroom activities.”

  “Dude, my girlfriend would have been all over you for that.” Declan laughed. His Maura would have had a fit. She was pretty feisty and frisky. Who was he kidding? So was he.

  “There are tubs in the back of the locker room. Just ask Gerry to walk you through the use. I’d like you to soak for thirty minutes, and then Jesse will be back there to work on your muscles and show you additional exercise before Dr. Howard checks the fit on your prosthetic.” Logen stood up. “Are you going to move, or should I decorate you and use you as a wallflower?”

  “I prefer to look like a daisy. It shows off my sunny personality,” quipped Declan as he slowly moved his aching legs toward the tub. A hot soak sounded blissful.

  “Wiseass.” Logen shook his head.

  Declan clenched his teeth as he lowered his body into the tub. His forearms and biceps strained. The water was blessedly hot, and the combination of minerals Gerry added to it made it feel like it was eating the end of the tender flesh on his leg, in a pleasant way. When his ass finally hit the bottom of the metal container, he sighed. Exhaustion hit him as he closed his eyes and sleep sucked him under.

  He was running, willing his body to go faster. His Teammates were just ahead, turning to him, gesturing for him to hurry up.

  The ground shook beneath him like the world had been toppled to its side. At the same time, heat seared the back of his clothes.

  He was suddenly tossed into the air like a rag doll, but not before the lower part of his leg was ripped off. He could feel the ripping of his flesh and the rending of the muscle and bones.

  It had been impossible not to look down and see his calf and foot left there behind, still in his boot. Who knew where it was now? He’d come home…and the foot hadn’t…

  The image of the torn and bloody flesh lying on the ground, abandoned, jarred him awake. His hands grabbed the side of the tub, and Declan knew he must have made a noise.

  “Daymare?” asked the guy in the tub next to him.

  Declan rubbed his hands over his face. “Yeah.”

  “I still have them too. I’m LT Ford Woollens.” The man proffered his hand.

  Extending his own hand, Declan clasped the other man’s and shook. “Declan Swifton, Master Chief.”

  “Ah, a Navy man. Good. Me too. I’ve had enough Seaman jokes from here to last me a lifetime. How did you, ah, lose it?” Woollens pointed to his leg. “I’m EOD. Stepped on a fucking IED after dismantling a clusterfuck in the middle of a road.”

  “On an Op,” Declan shared, though he still wasn’t comfortable talking about it. “Shit happens.”

  “Yeah,” said Woollens. “They tell us the shit will change, but you never fucking get over it. If you’re lucky, you find a way to make peace with it and get on with your life. If you don’t, you’re a walking dead man just waiting around to die. I wouldn’t dishonor my friends that way, or myself. I lost three people from my squad that day. The whole fucking car blew up, because I stepped wrong. The survivor’s guilt is worse than anything.”

  Gerry came in. “Sorry to interrupt. Your wife and Dr. Howard are ready for you. Are you going streakers today or can we wrap a towel?”

  Woollens gave Declan a big smile. “Let it all hang out.”

  With large arms extended, Gerry hauled Woollens out of the tub. Declan’s eyes went wide. The LT was missing two legs, an arm, and there was chunk out of his side. One ball was gone and it looked like several surgeries had been in that area.

  “Hey,” said Declan as Gerry and Woollens went by. “Thanks for the talk. See you around. Okay?”

  “Sure. My friends call me Woolly.”

  “Mine call me Dec.”

  “See you.” Woolly left, jabbering away to Gerry as he was carried into the other room.

  Declan looked at his body. He knew he was damn lucky. Seeing the struggles of the warriors around him, he knew this place was invaluable. It not only helped soldiers and sailors in some cases literally get back on their feet, but it gave them hope. Every one of them probably had the same dark room they’d hidden in, imagining their dreams fading away. No one should stay in that hell. If they did, then the enemy won. It was up to each of them to keep moving and recapture their lives.

  Hauling his body over the side of the tub, Declan found his balance and reached for a towel. As he towel-dried, he vowed to stay strong. He’d get back to active duty and/or active duty ready so that he was in optimal shape to live his life.

  Grabbing his crutch, he made his way to the PT room. He could handle whatever the program threw at him. Life was going to be on his terms, instead of the other way around.

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, Declan was physically spent but ready for some serious R & R. He’d passed out for two hours after his morning appointment, but there had been no daymares. He was grateful for the radio silence, and now he was prepared to commune with nature.

  As he made his way to the balcony door, his cell phone rang. He grabbed it and listened, the pleasant expression fading from his face. When he’d finally put the phone down, his emotions were raw and his face was wet with grief.

  He felt even more determined to get outside. Strapping the crutch to his back, he maneuvered his body over the railing. His prosthetic leg was sitting on the coffee table like a work of art. He supposed in many ways it was. It’d taken him a while to get used to it. Still felt strange sometimes, but he liked being able to walk again, with the promise of running in the future. He’d love to feel miles of wet sand passing under him again.

  Using his body’s agility, his left leg, and his arms, he scaled down the rock wall outside his apartment balcony, reaching the sandy ground quickly. He didn’t need the limb for what he wanted to do.

  Steadying himself on one leg, he grabbed his crutch off his back and set off, making his way down to the ocean water. The sand was not the most stable terrain, but he was making it work. He didn’t care how graceful he looked; stumbling was part of surviving, and he didn’t care if he had to do a fe
w face-plants to get to his goal.

  Settling in the sand a few feet from the receding waves, he watched them lap at the shore. Closing his eyes, he breathed in and out slowly.

  “Thinking about you, kid.” He shook his head. He’d wanted to pound something, work out, swim, anything to get the emotion out of him, yet he knew…breathing in and out…feeling the salty sweet air on his tongue…this was the best way he knew to honor him.

  Lying down on his back in the sand, he looked up at the sky. Clear blue. No clouds. As if someone took the color and made it so bright that it needed nothing else but to be admired.

  The sun beat down on his eyes, making them water; at least he could say it was that, but it wasn’t true. He was sorry to have heard the sad news from Kellogg Lesterman’s father. His son had died of pneumonia, among several other internal complications. “Kellogg appreciated your talks. The time you took with him… It was real special. Thank you.” When Kellogg’s mother had gotten on the line, it was all Declan had been able to do to hold it together. He’d felt the tears flowing and didn’t even try to make them stop.

  He couldn’t stay inside right now. He needed to be out in the elements. For Kellogg. For himself.

  As he lay on the beach, he couldn’t help but wonder why it hurt so much to know that Kellogg died. Maybe it was because the kid was so young. He hadn’t really experienced anything mind-blowingly exciting, except war. That had its own trials.

  What about happiness? Making love to a woman who wants nothing more than you…your touch…your words…and your presence?

  There was just no fucking rhyme or reason to why death happened. The terrorists and selfish abusers should have been the first to go, but the crappiest people stuck around, while the innocents were taken so quickly. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense.

  “Tears are just pain leaving the body,” Gich would say. “Let out the rawness and make something new of the energy.”