Barely able to contain his laughter, Geo gave him the “out” command, and Bosch immediately dropped Laz’s arm. Once he was safely tethered, Geo tossed him a Kong, and Bosch set about happily gnawing on it while Laz sprawled out drunkenly.
“What the fuck was that?” he slurred.
Geo grinned. “A goddamn hair missile, that’s what.”
Laz groaned and sat up to lean against a nearby boulder. “I saw him comin’, clear as day. Still managed to pancake my fuckin’ ass.” He shook his head in grudging admiration. “That’s some dog.”
“He’s the best.” Geo crouched down and patted Bosch’s neck and sides.
As Laz caught his breath, Geo dug Bosch’s water bowl from his pack and gave him a drink. Then they trudged toward the road where a helo would soon pick them up. In fact, Geo could already hear the faint echo of rotor blades off in the distance, the sound of the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment conducting their own exercises by flying through mountains and canyons that closely resembled Afghan terrain.
“Those guys are badass,” Laz commented, his head tilted back toward the dark sky. “I’ve seen ’em get so close to a cliff face that I swear sparks were shooting from the rotors, but the pilot acted like, ‘No big.’ Cool as a damn cucumber.”
“They love to make us shit our pants,” Geo agreed. “Pucker factor is real high with those guys.”
“You ever ridden with them on a Little Bird?”
Geo shivered as remembered thrill flowed through him. He’d never felt so alive in his life than when perched on the skids of the two-man helos everyone called Little Birds. Used for urban assaults, they were highly maneuverable, and it was like riding a rollercoaster into battle. “Hell, yeah.”
That led to the two of them comparing war stories, and at one point Laz punched Geo hard on the upper arm. “Man, sounds like you’ve done it all.” His voice was full of admiration. “You ever been shot?”
“No.”
“How’d you go ten years in this job without getting shot?” Laz held up his hands to forestall Geo’s reply, saying, “And don’t give me no bullshit about how you’re just that good.”
Chuckling, Geo shrugged. “Lucky, I guess.”
With a shake of his head, Laz said, “You know that luck’s bound to run out sooner or later. Watch your back, my friend.”
The clatter of rotor blades suddenly grew louder, indicating their ride was here. Once on board, Geo sat tethered with his legs dangling out the open door, his hand twined firmly in Bosch’s harness. On the floor behind him, some PJs shouted back and forth to each other as they treated a realistic training mannequin with an amputated leg. The helo dipped and rolled, simulating evasive maneuvers, while the PJs fought to keep their balance and their hands steady.
Twisting around, Geo watched them start IVs and an airway with unbelievable skill.
“You guys are good,” he called to the nearest one, a tall, lanky Latino dude who’d sat back on his heels and was wiping the back of his gloved hand over his forehead.
“Fuckin’ lost him, though,” the PJ said, indicating the mannequin’s flat-line computer readout. “Femoral artery. Never stood a chance.”
Geo winced. “Sorry.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
“What was the scenario?”
“Stepped on an IED. What else?” The PJ gestured toward Bosch. “Too bad their imaginary ‘patrol’ didn’t have a K9.” After holding his knuckles out for a bump, he turned back to his teammates.
Sucking in a deep breath, Geo let the familiar smell of dust and exhaust settle in his lungs, his body swaying with the motion of the helo. Bosch sat placidly next to him, his dog-sized goggles and muzzle on. Yeah, the two of them had definitely saved a lot of lives these past couple of years.
Geo closed his eyes. It was a good feeling, knowing they’d made a difference. Because of them, hundreds of families had gotten their loved ones home intact. All the IEDs they’d found, the ambush nests they’d broken up, the structures they’d identified that were rigged to blow with just a touch of the door, meant a few more men and women safe for another day.
Behind him, the PJs sprawled disconsolately about, their dead “patient” between them. With a nicked femoral artery, the odds had been against him from the start, no matter the top-notch trauma care he’d received.
Geo had seen guys bleed out on dusty roads thousands of miles from home, their shattered bodies struggling to hang on. He’d held their hands, and in some cases comforted their dogs. One long, terrible night, he’d sat with a dying K9 while her handler was rushed into surgery with wounds so extensive no one expected him to survive. He had, and when he’d finally woken up, the first words he managed to mumble were, “Where’s my dog?”
When would his luck run out? Maybe it never would. Maybe it’d continue, as Geo grew older and slower, as young guys with shiny new Tridents flooded the ranks, eager to get in the fight. Geo flinched. That’d be a lingering death all its own, for fuck’s sake, being the guy who stuck around past his prime in an environment where thirty-five was considered old.
He stared unseeing at the ground flashing below his boots.
Passing the torch to the next generation of SEALs would be something he’d have to do eventually. Maybe he should think about doing it on his own terms. What that would look like, he had no fucking idea, but for the first time, he let the reality seep in—that someday, this all would end.
Then what?
By the time the helicopter landed at the naval air station, Geo was bone-tired. Wearily, he got Bosch settled in his kennel for the night, then trudged out to the parking lot, where one of the PJs was being picked up by his family.
“Daddy!” A little girl wearing a cowboy outfit hurled herself into her burly father’s arms, and he picked her up and tossed her high over his head before catching her and swinging her around. Propping her on his hip, he bent to kiss his wife, then the baby she was holding.
Geo watched them. What would it be like, to have a tiny human dependent on you for everything? To know that you were responsible for their most basic of needs, for just keeping them alive, during those first few months? Then as they grew, to have the responsibility for raising them to be people of integrity, well-rounded individuals with a healthy outlook who treated everyone around them with respect?
He shook his head. Dang. Commando shit had nothing on parenting. No wonder Lani was scared. He would be, too. Still, as the PJ buckled his little family safely into their SUV, Geo couldn’t help but think, “Lucky guy. You don’t have to go home alone tonight.”
As he was about to turn away, he caught a glimpse of Matt ambling across the parking lot toward a beat-up old truck. “Hey!” he called impulsively, waving his arm to get Matt’s attention. “Dude!”
Changing course, Matt jogged over. “What’s up?” he asked as they bumped knuckles in greeting.
“Eh, just wondered if you wanted to grab a drink? If you don’t have anywhere else to be, that is.”
Glancing at his watch, Matt said, “Well, I’m picking Shane up at the airfield in a few hours, but sure, we could grab something.”
“Danny’s?”
“Meet you there.”
Twenty minutes later they were both seated at the bar at Danny’s, a SEAL hangout and Coronado staple. Business was slow on this Tuesday night, although there were several older men, lean and leathery, grouped together near the end of the counter.
Retired team guys.
Geo ordered a beer, raising an eyebrow when Matt stuck with club soda with lime.
“I actually don’t drink,” he explained with a wry grin. “It’s a long story.”
“Well, if you feel like sharing, I’m all ears.”
Geo listened as Matt told him about being a bored kid in a small North Dakota town, and how his recreational drinking had gotten out of control, com
ing within a hair’s breadth of derailing his dreams of becoming a SEAL. He credited his uncle, a former SEAL himself, with helping him get his head out of his ass and into BUD/S.
“I had no idea you were part of a SEAL dynasty,” Geo exclaimed. “Master Chief MacMillan is your uncle?”
“Yeah.” Matt took a pretzel from the basket in front of them and broke it into tiny pieces. “So I had big fuckin’ shoes to fill.”
“No shit.” Geo couldn’t even imagine. Rick MacMillan was a legend in the teams, a SEAL sniper who’d been part of the special operations joint task force sent to Mogadishu, Somalia.
With that sort of background, the pressure on Matt to succeed must have been intense, almost suffocating, yet here he was. Raising his glass in a silent toast, Geo said, “Now you’ll get to carve out your own path, have your own stories to tell. It’s a different world than when he was in.”
“For sure.”
They fell silent, both staring up at the walls and ceiling of the bar, which over the years had turned into a memorial for the West Coast SEALs lost to the wars in the Middle East.
For some reason, an unsettled, unmoored feeling started swirling in Geo’s gut. He drained his beer quickly, then ordered another. Instead of blunting the edges of his agitation, the alcohol only increased it.
Matt eyed him. “You okay, man?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Geo muttered. His gaze skittered over to one particular section of the wall that was dedicated to the loss of Cobra Three-Five. Throat tight, Geo scanned the twenty-four bearded faces, gone six years now.
And the community was still dealing with the fallout.
“Did you know some of them?” Matt’s hushed voice broke into his reverie.
Geo took a long, slow gulp of his beer. “Yeah, I did.” He pointed to a photo near the top of the pyramid. “Talked to him, in fact, right before they got on that helo.”
Matt squinted to read the name. “Greg Petronis.”
“Helluva dude. We called him ‘Mooch’ because he was always out of Copenhagen, but shit, he’d give you the shirt off his back if you asked.” Geo shook his head. “He carried a copy of this little book by Marcus Aurelius. Quoted from it constantly and drove us all fuckin’ nuts.”
“‘Death smiles at us all. All a man can do is smile back,’” Matt said softly. “Meditations.”
“Yep, that’s the one.” Shoving his empty bottle away, Geo grated, “I know those guys weren’t smiling at death when that punk shot them down. They all had their middle fingers up high and were screaming ‘Fuck you!’”
Matt nodded somberly, still gazing at the wall. “MPC Callie? There was a dog team on that Chinook?”
“Yeah.” Geo swallowed hard. “You know how they were found? Dog in the guy’s arms, like he’d just had enough time to wrap himself around her as they were going down.”
As always, picturing that handler’s tragic desperation stole Geo’s breath. It was something he himself wrestled with when he was alone in the dark with his thoughts, the fact that Bosch hadn’t asked to be there. He hadn’t volunteered to go to war, hadn’t signed a contract offering his life to the Navy. He had no choice in the matter, didn’t have the ability to reason that the odor he was being praised for finding was capable of blowing him to smithereens, or that the man he was so enthusiastically tracking might shoot him.
As the human, it was up to Geo to protect him, and that’s what the handler in that doomed helicopter, in those last terrifying moments of his life, had been frantically trying to do.
Protect his dog.
He opened his eyes to meet Matt’s.
“Were you there, Geo? I heard there was a SEAL unit sent out as the quick-reaction force and first responders.”
“I wasn’t, but a buddy of mine was. Cade’s the one who found the—found the dog.”
“Damn.” Matt winced. “You wonder how those guys handled that, seeing what they must’ve seen, so many dead friends.”
“Some of them didn’t handle it,” Geo snapped. “Some of them—”
One of them spiraled downward into his own personal hell and took a bunch of us with him.
He glanced up at the chronological line of pictures, which ended with some dude who’d been killed about two years ago. Nothing since then.
The low-grade anger bubbling inside him suddenly burst into flame. “Hey!” he called to the bartender, a tattooed young white woman with short spiky hair and a nose ring. “There’s a picture missing.” He stabbed his finger toward the memorial wall. “A guy who died last year.”
“Really?” The bartender pursed her lips in confusion. “I’ll ask the manager. Usually he has the pictures up within a few days of hearing about someone’s passing.”
She tore a piece of paper off her pad and rooted around for a pen. “What was his name?”
“Cade Barlow.”
The retired guys at the other end of the bar snapped their heads around, and Geo immediately tensed. “Got that? Cade Barlow,” he said loudly, clearly, staring them down. “B-A-R-L-O-W.”
“Don’t even bother, Luce,” one of the men said, his tone dripping with disgust. “That wall’s for heroes.”
In an instant, Geo was on his feet and in the dude’s face. “Excuse me? What was that?”
The guy didn’t back down. “You heard me. That wall’s for heroes who gave their lives in service to their country, not weaklings who decide to check themselves out.”
His whole body shaking with rage, Geo growled, “You have no idea what he’d been through, asshole. He—”
“We’ve all been through it,” the guy broke in. “Every single one of us has demons we wrestle with, but you know what? We don’t shame our community by taking the coward’s way out.”
“He was not a coward,” Geo shouted. “You don’t know the first thing about him!”
“Well, the fact he ate his own bullet tells me everything I need to know, now, doesn’t it?”
“You don’t know shit.” Geo planted his hands on the guy’s chest and shoved.
The dude staggered back a few steps but quickly righted himself. Geo could feel Matt’s warmth at his shoulder as the other man’s friends leapt to flank him.
Pointing at Geo, the man growled, “You’d better watch who you’re fucking with, son.”
“Fuck you! Cade was my teammate...”
“And I’m sorry for your loss. But a SEAL who gave up, who quit, doesn’t deserve—not while I have breath left in my body—to have his picture on this wall.”
A huge lump rose in Geo’s throat, almost choking him. When he didn’t say anything, the guy went on, “Those men—” he pointed “—died fighting. They died honorably, bravely, SEALs to the end.” He paused, lips twisted in a sneer. “Can you say the same about him?”
The disgust on his face, on all his friends’ faces, plus the open-mouthed shock on Luce’s, convinced Geo it was futile to continue the argument. Still, unwilling to back down, he took a step closer to the man, until their noses were only inches apart.
“It shouldn’t be how he died, it should be how he lived,” Geo hissed. “Cade Barlow gave eighteen years in service to his country. His bravery under fire was unquestioned, the lives he saved too numerous to count. For those reasons, he fuckin’ deserves to be on that wall with his brothers.”
The man shook his head. “Tell that to their families, son. Convince them that someone who chose to die should hang next to these men who fought death all the way to their very last breath. Tell them, or get the fuck outta my face.”
They stared at each other, bodies rigid, Geo’s anger mirrored back at him in the other guy’s expression. Matt’s hand coming to rest on his shoulder broke the spell. “Let’s go, George. There’s no point to this.”
The older guy flicked his gaze to Matt, a renewed sneer twisting his lips. “Hey, I’ve heard about yo
u. The spitting image of your uncle, aren’t you? I had the pleasure of serving with him early in my career.” He smirked. “Oh, the master chief must be so proud.”
Derisive snickers came from the guy’s friends at the sarcastic inflection to his words. Matt’s voice remained calm, unruffled, as he said, “He is, and I’m sure he’d love to discuss it with you. Go ahead and call him.”
The guy snorted. “Nah, cupcake. I wouldn’t bother him with something as ridiculous as you.” He lifted his chin toward the door. “Now prance on outta here, would ya? This bar’s for real men.”
Geo’s muscles coiled, his fingers balling into a fist. “What the fuck,” he started to say, but Matt tugged on his sleeve.
“It’s not worth it. Let’s go.”
The group’s mocking laughter followed them through the door. When they reached the sidewalk, Matt took a deep breath, his cheeks puffing out as he exhaled. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Geo stared at him. “You?”
“I’m fine.”
By silent agreement, they turned and started ambling along Orange Avenue, hands stuffed in their pockets. Geo couldn’t help stealing looks at Matt, unsure what to say, until Matt glanced at him.
“Yes, I’m gay,” he said quietly. “And out.”
“Dude...”
“My task unit is fully supportive,” Matt went on, “although the El-Tee says I can’t serve in the same platoon as my boyfriend anymore.” He chuckled. “One of us has got to go.”
Geo stumbled over his own feet, saved in the nick of time by Matt’s strong grip on his biceps. “Your boyfriend is in your platoon?” he croaked. “Jesus Christ.”
“Well, we didn’t plan it that way,” Matt said, laughing. “We met in BUD/S, got assigned to different platoons, and then somehow Shane ended up in mine.”
“Shane?” Now Geo stopped short, his eyes widening. “The wounded guy you kept driving for?”
Matt’s smile faded. “Yeah. Lieutenant Bradley says he never wants us put in that position again. Shane and I know how to keep things professional at work, but one of us dying in front of the other, well, that’d be hard to come back from.”
Trusting a Warrior Page 10
