I wandered around to the backside of the armory, happy to find a moment of solitude, and pulled the secured satellite phone out of my pack.
Thank fuck, this was the call I wanted to make. The one where I got to tell my friend his cousin was safe and sound. The alternative would’ve been soul-crushing, especially since I’d met the woman.
I dialed Carter and he picked up after two rings.
“Drake.” My old friend sounded tired.
“Sorry about the time difference.”
“How is she?”
“Tough as fuck.”
“Yeah, she is.” He chuckled, then his laugh morphed into something else—a strangled outburst full of emotion. “Jesus.”
“Carter, man, we got her. She’s safe.”
“How bad is it?”
Hell, no, we weren’t going there.
“Let’s focus on the part where I told you she was safe.”
“Drake, don’t fuck with me. How bad?”
“Brother—”
“You know what’s going through my head right now. Don’t treat me like I’m some green team, wet behind the ears asshole. Just put me out of my misery and tell me.”
I glanced around ensuring I was still alone and told Carter what he wanted to know. “We didn’t talk about much. For certain she was waterboarded, her back’s a mess from being strapped down, she’s gonna have some issues from that. Even though her lips are cut to shit, she insisted on sipping water instead of me pouring it in. She’s…damn, Carter, she looks worse than you did after our incident in Africa. Head-to-toe covered in cuts and bruises.
“But the thing you need to focus on right now is, she’s tough. The woman’s a warrior, no other way to describe her. We touched down and she insisted on walkin’ across the tarmac. Don’t know if that’s something that your uncle instilled in her, don’t know if she was taught that shit, or if she was born with a determination I’ve only ever seen in my teammates. However that came to be, she owned that shit—head held high, every bit of the Ranger she is. Don’t forget that, Carter. Not now as you pull yourself together and not when she gets home.”
“Is that pride I hear comin’ from Drake Hayes?”
“Hell, yeah, I’m proud.”
“Well, damn. From the man who’s never impressed, I can sleep tonight knowing my cousin’s coming home and she’s doing it not broken.”
I didn’t say she wasn’t broken.
“I’m sure they’ll have her on a transport after she’s been debriefed.”
“And her team?”
“KIA.”
“Fuck. That’s gonna hit her hard.”
“Already is. My advice, watch for survivor’s guilt.”
“Copy that. Thanks for everything. We can’t ever repay you enough for bringing her home.”
“Sure you can. Bring that wife and daughter up to Virginia and buy me a beer.”
“I’m not bringing my wife anywhere near you swine. The last time, I caught every single one of you fuckers checkin’ her out.”
“Man, she was nine months pregnant and none of us knew breasts could—”
“Right now, I don’t care that you just saved my cousin’s life. You talk about my wife’s breasts again, I’ll kick your ass.”
“Damn, you’re easy these days. I remember when none of us had anything to yank your chain about other than the fact your poor dick never saw the inside of a woman.”
“That’s because none of you knew about what I had waiting for me at home.”
“True story.”
Carter Lenox had kept Delaney Walker a secret from all of us. None of us knew he had a woman at home—his childhood sweetheart. After months of watching our new team leader turn down every woman who approached, we thought he was gay but not ready to come out. We spent the next few months trying to tell him that none of us cared. His abstinence earned him the nickname Church.
“As fun as this chat was, I’m gonna go grab a shower. And see if there’s something to eat around this place other than a gut-busting MRE.”
“Ten days… I’ll never forget what you did, Drake,” he croaked.
I cleared my throat, battling the emotion that had lodged itself there. “I’d say anytime, but I hope like hell we never have a repeat.”
“Hear that. Talk to you soon.”
* * *
“Drake, Wick wants to see us.” I looked up from my plate of barely palatable, from-a-box mashed potatoes, to Trey. I didn’t want to do this, but the concern on my friend’s face told me I didn’t have an option. “Before we see Wick, let’s have that talk.”
The metal legs of the chair scraping on the makeshift wood floor of the DFAC was like nails to a chalkboard. I was dog-ass tired and I wanted to have this conversation only slightly less than I wanted to talk with the general. But Trey Durum was like a pit bull—if I didn’t give him time now, he’d gnaw at my throat until I gave in.
“Well? You had something to say. Now you’re sitting there staring at me like you’re gonna ask me on a date.”
My attempt to cut the tension with a joke fell flat and only further irritated Trey.
Christ.
We were doing this.
All that was missing was Earl Grey and a plate of cookies between us and we’d be like two chicks gossiping.
“Fucking hell,” I unhappily muttered. “I can’t explain what happened because I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” Trey cut his eyes at me in disbelief.
Welcome to my world, brother. I couldn’t believe it either. I was always in control, most especially over my emotions.
Nicknames given in the teams were earned. We called Trey Razor because he sliced through all the bullshit when we were on a mission. He saw the forest through the trees, and never got caught up in the minutia. He was also razor sharp with overly aggressive women, cutting them off at the knees before they could vie for a night in his bed. He also was the first one to call us on our shit.
“Nope. I don’t know what came over me.”
“That’s not like you.”
Tell me about it.
I didn’t say anything because there was nothing to say. He was right and we both knew it. Cradling Liberty in my lap and holding her hand was not my style. A mission objective was just that—an objective. Which was all Lieutenant McCoy was—a hostage in need of a ride home.
But if that was the case, why in the hell did my chest ache at the thought of never seeing her again?
“So, what’s the plan?” he asked.
“Plan?”
“Wait, you’re just gonna let her go?”
What the fuck is Trey talking about? Of course, let her go. What the hell was I supposed to do, take the woman and run?
“Of course I am. What else would I do with her?”
Trey’s face lit with humor and I braced for the smartass comment I knew was coming.
“Well, friend, if you don’t know by now what to do with a woman, then there’s no hope for you.”
“Right. Good talk. We done?”
“How long have we been friends?” he weirdly asked.
I was too damn tired to do the mental math and fresh out of patience for the pointless conversation with a sit-down with Wick still looming.
“No clue. A long time.”
“Yeah, a long time. Years. Been by your side on countless missions. Never not once have I seen you break character. You’re Ice—cold and calculating.”
Break character? What the fuck?
“And your point?”
“Don’t have one.” Trey shrugged. “We better go see what Wick wants before he sends someone looking for us.”
I wanted to call bullshit. Trey had a point—he always did, but he was not wrong, Wick would send some E-nothing to retrieve us, and if I had to sit through an ass chewing session there was a strong possibility I’d lose my shit and wind up spending the night in the brig.
I stood and picked up my tray of half-eaten food, and without waiting f
or Trey, I made my way to the trash before I hit the door and stepped out into the cool night air.
I glanced around the FOB and wondered where Liberty was and how she was holding up. It had been hours since we’d parted ways. Hell, she could already be on a transport to stateside for all I knew. And as much as I wanted to ask Wick, I wouldn’t.
Lieutenant McCoy was not my business.
But goddamn, I wish she were.
9
“Lieutenant,” General Wick sighed.
I knew I’d pushed him to the brink and I was being unfair using a familiar connection to manipulate the man. Under normal circumstances I would’ve felt bad—hell, I wouldn’t have used my father’s name at all. However, there was nothing normal about me being taken hostage, my team being murdered, and my target still alive and breathing.
“You know I’m right,” I whispered and tried my best to look contrite.
“You’re not wrong,” Wick begrudgingly admitted. “But it will not be you who goes back out.”
“With all due respect, General—”
“Liberty, I know this is not what you want to hear but it’s impossible.”
“Are you saying it’s impossible due to your relationship with my father or as a general? Because you know the major gave me the green light. His recommendation was a few days’ rest then I was good-to-go.”
I was seriously testing my boundaries. I’d know General Wick my whole life. He was a good friend of my dad’s. They were so close there was a framed photograph in my father’s office of five young men; General Wick—then Captain Wick—with my dad and uncles after a successful mission in Bosnia. But even with the friendly and informal relationship I was extorting, I’d gone too far. I knew it when Wick’s eyes narrowed and his graying eyebrows pinched.
“Lieutenant, at this juncture you’re skating damn close to an article 89,” he grunted. “The major assessed your physical wounds, not the psychological effects of your capture. You’re being debriefed and sent home.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Wick repeated, stunned I’d dare to prod him further than I had.
“Yes, General. Why would you send me home when my team was so close? I know Lore better than anyone. It would take months for a new team to get up to speed.”
Before the general could give his rebuttal, a loud rap on the door made me jump. Unfortunately Wick didn’t miss my regrettable reaction to the noise. It certainly wasn’t helping my request to be sent back out on a mission by responding like a scared kitten.
“Come in,” Wick boomed.
Drake stepped into the room followed by Logan, Matt, Luke, and Trey. Suddenly the TOC seemed much smaller than it was. Wick had cleared the tactical operations center of all personnel when I was brought to him.
The center, normally a hub of commotion, now sat eerily empty. The computer screens dark, the make-shift war room devoid of the constant chatter as the battle captain and his soldiers collected, consolidated, and scrutinized real-time battlefield information.
Their latest mission was complete, I’d been brought home.
The area of operations map was still tacked to the plywood wall, complete with my team’s pictures printed out and thumbnailed beside the charts. Seeing the pictures of the men who’d lost their lives was too much—after a cursory glance I’d had to turn away.
“Sir.” Drake’s deep voice jolted me from my thoughts.
“Job well done,” Wick praised.
“Easy day,” Trey muttered, and I wanted to roll my eyes at the use of the SEAL motto.
That seemed to be their answer to everything.
“We’ll get this debrief done and get you boys home.” Wick gestured to the folding banquet table in the middle of the room.
“Sir?” Drake’s eyes sliced to me in question before they went back to the general.
“I’ve asked the lieutenant to be present. In the interest of time and the ongoing mission I felt it prudent to have all the players in the same room.”
“Ongoing mission?” Drake inquired.
“My mission is incomplete,” I informed Drake.
“Come again?”
“In…com…plete.” I enunciated the word. “My target is still alive.”
Drake’s forehead wrinkled and the general let out an exaggerated sigh.
The man was beyond annoyed with me, but in my current state I didn’t give the first fuck.
My team was dead, I’d been captured, and Lore was still making bombs that were killing US and allied service men and women. So, incomplete didn’t begin to accurately describe my mission—more like total failure. But that was mine to process later. There was no way I was admitting my shortcomings in a room full of men who had been sent in to come to my rescue.
“Who’s the target?” Trey asked.
General Wick’s intense stare told me I was getting closer to that article 89 he’d threatened earlier.
But to my surprise, he answered Trey. “Flip the white board.”
Trey ambled over to the free-standing, reversible board and flipped it, revealing the map and intel reports.
“Lore?” Trey whistled then turned to face Wick. “What was a Ranger squad doing tracking Lore?”
“I expect this to stay in this room,” Wick snarled. “And before one of you pops off with some sort of GOFO snappy comeback—I’ll make myself crystal clear. This is not a need-to-know situation. This is a no-one-needs-to-know operation. Not anyone, am I clear?”
I’m not sure what I was more shocked by; Trey knowing who Lore was or the general getting ready to impart intel that very few people knew.
“Clear,” Drake grunted.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see none of the men appreciated the reminder to observe operational security. And I was fairly sure none were impressed with Wick’s grasping of the fucking obvious acronym either. Wick was treating the men like they were POGs instead of SEALs.
“Lieutenant McCoy took an ODA tactical team on a special purpose extraction operation.”
“I’m sorry,” Drake cut in. “Did you say, the lieutenant took a special forces team on a mission?”
“Yes,” Wick replied.
“Why would a Ranger lead the Operational Detachment Alphas tac team on a mission?”
“Because McCoy is SF.”
Drake’s angry eyes swung to me, his glare cutting me to the quick. “If she’s SF then why wasn’t the rest of her team sent in for the extraction?”
“Given the circumstances, we felt your team was the best option given who we’re dealing with.”
“Let me see if I’m understanding this. You know who took her?”
“We had a good idea,” Wick confirmed.
“So you know he’s an American?”
My head spun with this new information.
Had I told Drake the voice of my tormenter had spoken perfect English?
“How…how do you know that?” I stammered.
Drake pulled his backpack off, slammed it on the table, unzipped it, and rummaged around. Then much to my horror he unwrapped a DVD.
Of course I knew there was a possibility my interrogation had been recorded—I’d been told it was—but I was hooded at the time and couldn’t be sure if it was real or a form of physiological torture.
“Was that released?” I was acutely aware I was panting in fear. “My dad.”
The vein that had been throbbing in Wick’s neck now looked like it was ready to explode.
“Give me a minute.” Wick took the DVD and left the TOC, the door slamming behind him leaving me with six angry SEALs.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t correct you,” I told Drake.
The jerk of his chin told me he understood what I meant. But he was nowhere near accepting my apology for not correcting him all of the times he called me Ranger.
“I take it your family doesn’t know?” Trey cut in.
“They don’t,” I confirmed.
“Must’ve sucked going through SFQC and hav
ing no one there on graduation day.”
“I didn’t go through the standard qualification course. There was…a handful of us that went through a modified program. Same phase structure, same physical training, different training location and specialized tactics.”
“What does that mean, exactly?” Matt asked.
“Officially, it means I’m a tabbed Ranger, but not assigned to a regiment, therefore I did not earn a scroll. I’m an intelligence officer under the Army’s psychological warfare division. Off the books I’m the Special Forces Officer in the 8th Special Forces Group.”
“Why off the books?” Matt pressed.
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“Cute,” Drake sneered.
“Excuse me?”
“The I’m not at liberty bullshit.”
Why was he being such a dick? Drake of all people should understand the need for specialized units. Our best assets should be kept hidden from both the enemy and the public.
“Seriously, Master Chief? You of all people are going to be an asshole about this? Tell me something, how many times have you and your teammates watched some news network plaster your work all over the evening news and wish they’d keep their traps shut about your missions? Missions that are supposed to be classified and not for public consumption. How many times has the media put good men’s lives in jeopardy as they report outside of Dam Neck? And, really, I’d love to know your opinion on our vice president outing DEVGRU after UBL was put to ground. How did it make you feel when the wives and children of teammates had to go into hiding out of fear of retaliation?”
“Drake, brother, what the fuck?” Logan stepped back from the whiteboard and looked at his teammate.
“I don’t like mission specifics being withheld,” Drake defended. “And this has bullshit written all over it.”
The door slammed open and one look at General Wick told me any patience he had when he’d left the TOC had taken a hike. The man looked positively undone. Not something you’d expect from a career military man. Wick was the picture of propriety—a battle-hardened warrior. Except when I pushed him to the brink.
“Sit the fuck down—all of you,” Wick barked, and tossed a thick file folder down on the table. “We have a problem.”
Taking Liberty: The Next Generation Page 6
