SEAL Firsts

by Sharon Hamilton

  “Something like that,” he answered, and took a big sip of beer. He tried to remember when it was he received his first compliment or the assurance that he could trust someone, or that his little body wasn’t going to be abused in some way.

  All he could remember were the first days getting yelled at by his BUD/S instructors, by his Basic instructors at Great Lakes, and the odd feeling that he was home. He was used to it. He could do this. It was something he was made for. And that feeling grew every day he served, every day he packed and re-packed his parachute, every day he cleaned his equipment and stowed it away like fine pieces of china and crystal. This was, after all, his real legacy. Everything else was pure fantasy.

  “So here we are. Wanna talk about it?”

  “Nope. Wanna forget about it.”

  “So what are your plans?”

  T.J. shrugged. He hadn’t thought about what his plans were, since it was a moot point anyhow. No way would he leave Shannon and the baby alone, not with nuts running around the country spouting their mouths off about getting revenge against innocent military men and women’s families. He wasn’t going to allow anyone else but himself to protect them.

  But even if he could, he wasn’t so sure he’d want to talk to his dear old dad, if it even was his dad.

  His phone rang.

  “T.J. Talbot?” said the burly voice he recognized as Travis Banks from Nashville.

  “That’s me.”

  “I’m—”

  “I know who you are, so let’s just cut the bullshit, and you tell me why you’re calling me.”

  Banks let the line go silent a little longer than necessary. T.J. felt a reproach was coming.

  “You’re father is dying, son. He wants to see you before he passes on.”

  T.J. looked at Tyler, who was chewing on his lower lip and not making eye contact. He wasn’t going to tell the man about Shannon and the baby, because he didn’t think his father deserved to hear it. “I’m afraid that will take some time to arrange. See, I’m in the military.”

  “We know that, son, but your father has maybe a week tops on this planet. He’s tried to escape twice from our hospital ward bare-assed in his gown, everyone chasing after him. He’s hell-bent on seeing you. Our hospital is in the Riverbend Maximum Security Prison here in Nashville, so his attempts were pure folly, as are the years those attempts added to his sentence. He’ll die here, son, and probably this week.”

  “Understood. I’d say he’s your problem, not mine. Sonofabitch didn’t even think to try to contact me until he was getting ready to check out. What do you think that makes him?”

  “Like you said, Mr. Talbot, a sonofabitch. But he’s your father.”

  “Sperm donor.”

  “I stand corrected.” Banks sighed into the phone. T.J. heard a wooden chair squeak and could just picture the place. It probably would be a tiny office with old government-issue desks and gray file cabinets with inventory stickers on them, a window that didn’t open, with bars on it. The employees of a prison were behind bars as much as the inmates were. Probably would smell like all the Juvenile Halls he’d been in from Texas to California.

  Banks tried another olive branch. “Look Talbot, there’s no good reason to say good-bye to the man who gave you life, except just to do it. Just because he wasn’t there for you isn’t a good enough reason to not be a decent human being.”

  “You’re wrong, Banks. I owe him nothing. And I am an honorable human being. Of that I’m certain.”

  “So I hear. Thank you for serving your country.”

  T.J.’s internal alarm went off, hoping that his dad didn’t know, or this man didn’t know he was in the Special Forces. Now of all times, this sort of thing should be kept quiet.

  “I’ve got some personal things going on at home now, and it will take time to get approved for leave. Not sure I can do this so last minute. So don’t get your hopes up.” He wasn’t inclined to lift one single finger to request any time off, but it sounded better to say it.

  “Well, I’ll let him know we talked. You do the best you can, son. I’m sure that will be good enough.” Banks hung up.

  It would have settled things much easier for T.J. if the guy had yelled at him, shamed him in some way. That kind of direct challenge was something he could handle, and he’d win at that game. But when Banks used the phrase, “Do the best you can do,” it irked him worse than if he’d sat on a rusty nail. Not a mortal wound, but it would fester, hurt like hell and eventually need to be addressed. It wouldn’t heal on its own.

  He set his phone down and then finished off his beer. “My dad’s dying. Got maybe a week to live.”

  Tyler knew better than to say anything. They searched the bar, looked up at who came out of the men’s room, where their hands were, and if they carried a backpack. Looked for someone lingering in the doorway to the outside and listened to all the traffic noise. The news program on one of several big screen TVs was turned up, and it had stopped the ball game.

  “…we’re just getting word now that at least two family members of a retired Marine have been injured: his wife and one of the couple’s four children. Mrs. Cole was able to shoot the attackers with a loaded gun from the couple’s kitchen, but was injured in the altercation. One child was spending the night over at a friend’s. Mrs. Cole and her child were taken to Scripps Mercy Hospital in San Diego. It’s believed the attacker had been looking for Cole, who was not home at the time.”

  The banner on the screen said Homegrown American Terrorist in bright red letters. It continued to scroll across the picture of the Emergency Room of the hospital.

  Shannon’s hospital.

  Chapter 23

  “Sonofabitch.” T.J. said as he and Tyler stood at the same time. He didn’t even ask if Tyler wanted to go. In a minute they were both in T.J.’s four-door pickup, headed down the freeway, stuck in traffic.

  Tyler spoke with Kate briefly on the phone, and then hung up. “She’s going over to Christy’s to help out. Kyle’s been called in.”

  “No shit. That was Magnus Cole’s wife on the screen. You know, he’s the guy who has been organizing all those Warrior Runs? We’ve sponsored them at Gunny’s.”

  Magnus had been another foster care product, although he had fared better. T.J. had spent time with him. Magnus was working with a lot of at-risk youths in his retirement and was quite high profile and in the media all the time.

  “Yes. I’ve seen him. I knew you were friends. Sorry, man.”

  “He’s gonna go off like a powder keg,” T.J. said, and spit out the window.

  They rode the rest of the way in silence. T.J. kept the radio off so he could think. They got to the hospital just as several large TV motorhomes blocked the entrance to the Emergency Room.

  “Christ, wonder how anyone who really needed help could get in there. Where the hell are the cops? There are people all over this place, like ants. No way this is secure.”

  “I’m packing, just so you know,” Tyler whispered.

  “Always.”

  They parked in the reserved doctors’ lot and were slipping in a side entrance, when someone exited wearing bloody scrubs. They expected to be stopped and questioned, but the orderly ignored them. T.J. opted to bypass the elevator and take the stairs. At the door to the second floor, a bloody handprint was framed ominously on the ivory painted metal door. The door handle was also covered in blood. Tyler and T.J. instinctively drew their weapons.

  “Maternity and nursery are on floor four,” T.J. barked.

  Tyler grabbed his arm, holding him back. “You know what you’re doing here, T.J.? Remember, we’re in the U.S. of A. And we got permits, but if there’s been violence the cops aren’t going to know if we are good guys or bad guys, and they’ll shoot us down like dogs if we’re not careful.”

  “Yeah, well can you inform those assholes that it’s illegal to kill innocent women and children? Do you suppose that would help, Tyler?”

  “Fuck sake, T.J. I’m not worried a
bout anything but you. You don’t need trouble. Protection, yes. But trouble? We gotta stay calm.”

  “Roger that. No worries. We trained for this, remember?” T.J. yanked his arm out of Tyler’s grip and dashed up the last flight of stairs to the white door marked Floor 4.

  Stepping out into the hallway, it surprised them there was no chaos. No screaming. No unattended posts. They walked along the hall to one side, keeping their side arms down and behind them. Tyler frequently checked for anyone coming up from the rear. T.J. felt the familiar touch from Tyler’s hand on his shoulder, like they’d been trained. “So far, so good. I got no one,” Tyler whispered.

  The vinyl flooring rippled unevenly under the light of the overhead fluorescents. A stacked meal tray cart was conveniently parked between two rooms on the left. T.J. held onto it while they both took cover behind.

  “She’s down four rooms, on the left.”

  The nurse’s station was packed with hospital staff and what appeared to be a doctor. The heavyset charge nurse rounded the corner holding a clipboard, and stopped in her tracks when she saw T.J. peering around the cart.

  “Mr. Talbot, what in the hell are you doing?” Her voice carried such that everyone within twenty feet looked first at her, and then over to the two SEALs. A quick assessment told T.J. that nothing out of the ordinary was happening, so he stuffed his SigSauer under his shirt and secured it with the Velcro strap he’d fashioned at the rear of his belt. Tyler stowed his in the lower pocket of his cargo pants.

  He stood up and stepped away from the cart. “You do know there’s a whole lot of commotion downstairs, don’t you?”

  “We haven’t been notified. It would come over the speakers. No one’s called. What kind of commotion?”

  “There are victims in an attack. I think they’ve brought them in downstairs. This was an attack on a military family.”

  One of the young volunteers put her palm to her lips. The doctor picked up the floor phone and started calling, and several people looked at their cells.

  “There are bloody handprints to the door on Floor Two, in the stairway.” T.J. exchanged glances with Tyler. “Holy shit, the guy we passed at the side entrance—he was covered in blood.”

  The charge nurse ran for the desk and began dialing the phone. “I’m calling security. You two are gonna wait right here.”

  The doctor interrupted her. “Already got through. They’ve had an altercation but everything’s quiet.”

  “What about Shannon?” T.J. asked.

  The nurse kept the phone to her ear. “She’s fine. Probably wide awake by now. Are you satisfied?”

  “Not until I see her.”

  “You carrying—yes—this is Four South, are we anticipating a lockdown or emergency? I see. When did that happen?”

  T.J. walked briskly toward Shannon’s room, but the charge nurse raised her voice, cupping the phone. “Hey. Hey. You wait right here. You can just sit and wait.” She hung up the phone.

  “No can do, Ma’am,” T.J. said as he walked backwards, holding his hands out to the sides, palms up. T.J. and Tyler were in the room before she could stop them.

  Shannon was sitting up, looking a much better shade of pink. Even without makeup, she was beautiful.

  “I knew when I heard all the shouting that somehow, my T.J. was involved.” Almost as an aside she said, “Hi there, Tyler.” She re-directed her focus to T.J. “What are you up to?”

  “I’m just checking on you. That’s all.”

  “So what’s with the altercation with the nurses?”

  Tyler poked his head out into the hallway, then stared back at T.J. and shrugged. “Security must be pretty busy. Don’t see a soul.”

  “Security?” Her frown leveled on T.J. “What have you done?”

  “Nothing. Look, there’s been a terrorist attack on the family of a Marine. It’s all over the news.”

  Shannon picked up the clicker, and all three of them watched the announcer give a special report as again pictures of the hospital emergency room filled the background of the screen.

  “…by the Middle Eastern America group, with sympathetic ties to certain radical elements in Iraq and Pakistan. In recent weeks, the government and local law enforcement teams have been stepping up their security measures following the threat of attacks against our military men and women. In this particular case, we understand Mr. Cole was in Washington working on a bill that would help military veterans and their families. He’s been an outspoken advocate for at-risk youths in our community and helped to foster and sponsor many charity events here.”

  A photo of Magnus Cole in his Marine uniform was shown next.

  “Shit!” Tyler blurted out. “Who gave them permission to give out all that information?”

  “T.J., he’s in the news all the time. It’s what he’s been doing,” said Shannon. “Even I feel like I know him, and I’ve never met him.”

  T.J. was seething. He was fisting and unfisting his hands, grinding his jaw. He desperately wanted to throw something.

  A passage from his least favorite book in school, a book he was forced to read in three different high schools that year, A Tale of Two Cities, came to mind:

  It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.

  Chapter 24

  Kyle finished his briefing with most of the other LPOs of SEAL Team 3, some of the Senior Chiefs who were stateside from Team 3, several Lieutenant Commanders and the top three Naval Intelligence officers at Coronado. Kyle had never met those guys, as they tended to keep a very low profile.

  What struck him was that the task force was preparing for this day, yet nothing special had drifted down to the SEAL teams not on deployment. They were focusing on methods of ensuring that military families were being protected. It was also discussed that perhaps the perps were a pair of unknown lone wolves with an axe to grind, a local disgruntled recruit or two who had been forcibly DOR’d or had some beef with the military. This idea was roundly rejected. The method of the second assailant’s death and the claim of responsibility made it pretty clear there was a Middle Eastern connection.

  Then he learned the details of the attack. The first assailant was in the process of going after the youngest of the three children with a knife, when Mrs. Cole fired point blank with one of the couple’s five loaded handguns. The other assailant was run off the property and blew himself up in the middle of rush hour traffic on a busy neighborhood expressway, injuring multiple drivers but without further loss of life except his own. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that the terrorist was looking to make a splash on the evening news, and he got his wish, although Kyle hoped he was enjoying his time in hell without the virgins and would never know the bitter fruit he had spawned.

  He called Christy, hearing the screams of little children, Brandon the loudest amongst them, and several women conversing quietly so Christy could talk to her husband, their husbands’ boss. There wasn’t any laughter as would normally occur at such a gathering.

  Upon hearing the children in the background, he thought of the Cole children he’d met at a Christmas fundraiser last year.

  “How are you doing, Kyle?” That was his Christy. Always watching out for him. Right in his face, asking the tough question. God, he loved her strength. She was going to be a great help to the other wives and girlfriends.

  “It’s bad. You saw the news?”

  “Well, of course, until the kids and others began to arrive. Phone’s been going nonstop. Kyle, they put T.J.’s picture on the TV, right next to Magnus’s.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No. Remember that run they did last year for the Warrior Foundation? Someone dug up a photo of the two of them together.”

  Kyle knew it wouldn’t take long for the facial recognition software to find T.J.’s name and publish that, too. He wondered if the news media had any idea how they had put his guys in jeopardy. On days like today, he felt like the war was being lost.

  And then he adjuste
d his attitude. It wasn’t lost, because he was still alive, and he’d die protecting the ones he loved. It was the same deal whether at home or overseas. They never left anyone behind, and they wouldn’t hesitate to save the lives of others, even at great personal cost. It was what he signed on for.

  “I’m coming home. I gotta get hold of T.J. first. I think Shannon is at that hospital.”

  “Oh my God. Should I go over there?”

  “Absolutely not. Stay home. Keep everyone there. See if you can have the gals get hold of their husbands. I’m going to call a meeting for Charlie Company. No one else, though. No one is to talk to family, except to answer direct calls to their phones. No details. Just reassure people they’re okay. Don’t do anything to attract attention, and if the fucking news media arrives on our doorstep, make sure you call me right away and don’t, whatever you do, answer the door.”

  “What’s going on? Why is this happening?”

  “Because they can’t win. So they’ll cause as much pain as they can. They can’t get us, so they’ll target the families.”

  Kyle let Christy absorb everything he’d said.

  “Any questions?”

  “No. I love you.”

  “Love you too, babe. Gotta be extra vigilant. Better to plan than not be prepared, right?”

  “Roger that.”

  Kyle snickered. “Cute. I like it better when you say that in bed.”

  “Well come home at a decent hour, and I’ll give you a repeat performance.”

  “Now that’s worth living for, trust me. Okay, Christy, gotta go.”

  “Love you. And Kyle?”

  “Yes?”

  “You’re right, they won’t win. Maybe this was what we needed as a country to wake up to the real world. You guys do too good a job making it so we don’t have to think about it. Only fair that we have to share in some of the risk. I signed on for that when I married you. I’m still solid with that decision.”