True Devotion

by Dee Henderson

  There was a time to be illogical.

  He wasn’t repeating history, logical move or not. “Boomer, Franklin, Wolf, scrub point Charlie. We are heading to point Alpha on top of that ridge. We’re going out by air.”

  It was a decade of sand, sweat, and trust that turned the three of them toward the new objective he gave without even a question. He chose going into the gunfire in front of them instead of back into the safety of the sea behind them.

  “I’m going to slide into that crevice at the end of the pier and drop a few grenade rounds on those gunners; then we’re going to move like lightning up to the right around those rocks and come around above them. Franklin, Wolf, get ready to run. Boomer, stay put until I fire; then keep them off my back until I can reach that first step. As soon as I’m there, go for the rocks.”

  He had to fire uphill into the gunners. The only way to get shells into those nests was to be in the tip of the V. Get to the end of the pier, and he could literally send them each a fastball down their throats. Six steps. He saw each one in his mind; six steps exposed before he could dive off the pier to the sand and be back under cover. He could do it in five. Kelly would appreciate him doing it in five. I love you, Kelly, but you’re still a distraction. “I’m going now!” Joe rushed forward, low, exposed to the gunfire as he lost the shelter of the boathouse and sprinted along the pier.

  The symphony of covering fire drowned out the fire coming toward him. Joe knew it was providence not skill that slammed him into the sand, bruised but unhurt. “Get ready to run!” He racked the tube, took a breath, and pivoted up. “Run!” The blast cratered the right machine-gun nest even as his words echoed through the earpiece.

  He was rolling to put two down the throat of the left machine-gun nest even as he heard Boomer yell, “Bear, roll right! We’ve got company behind us!”

  Joe rolled right and got slammed on the back with debris as the end of the pier took a mortar round. Where had they gotten mortars?

  He got a glimpse and felt the world twist. Another boat. It must have been anchored in some cove, camouflaged and waiting. It was small, maneuverable—it couldn’t stop another boat, but it could spray everything in its path with gunfire.

  Had he and the other SEALs gone to the water to exit the cove, the four of them would be dead. The realization was like a fist in the gut. Lord, thank You!

  If that boat pulled to the pier and unloaded the men on board, they might still end up dead. It wasn’t the odds; it was the ammo. His vest was way too light for another firefight.

  “Boomer, get off that dock!” Boomer saw the threat, should have broken for the rocks moments ago. Joe could see him flat on his belly on the dock, lying between the boathouse and the empty diesel barrels.

  “I’m right behind you,” Boomer yelled back.

  Wolf and Franklin had the lines of retreat protected, could hold back the men on the beach from moving forward but could do nothing about the boat now reversing engines to close with the dock. Joe dashed from his exposed position to the first boulder where he could give Boomer some cover, then heard his friend close to a step behind him. “Keep going! It’s going to be hot!”

  The dock and pier shredded behind them in a powerful explosion, a wall of fire and heat reaching out to envelop the boat, and moments later the mortars on board lit all at once. “One problem solved,” Boomer remarked as they ran.

  They disappeared into the rocks along the ridge with Franklin and Wolf, leaving confusion behind.

  Moving fast, ready to fire, they cut north. Franklin was calling in the extraction helicopter as Joe and Boomer split directions to circle and ensure the landing zone stayed clear.

  The race up the ridge had his heart pounding in his ears, the gunfire absorbing his hearing. Only as they slowed at the extraction site did the static-meshed voices distinguish themselves into discernible words. “Say again, Cougar. Say again.”

  “The holds are empty! There never was a device on board!”

  Joe got the news the mission had failed as fire erupted from the beach below tracing up into the sky toward the incoming helicopter.

  * * *

  He had almost gotten his men killed. For no device, no Raider, he had almost gotten his men killed. Joe leaned his head back against the cold metal of the helicopter gunner’s rack and closed his eyes, let it sink in that they were safely racing out to sea, and felt the nausea slowly fade. His body was taking pleasure in reminding him what he had just endured. The adrenaline had been so powerful it had nearly stopped his heart.

  “You’ll get a medal for taking that kind of risk.”

  Joe didn’t bother to open his eyes as Boomer moved from manning the side gun to the floor beside him. “Getting a medal for failing is hardly something I want on my record.”

  “You saved my life, not to mention that of Franklin and Wolf by getting us off that pier when you did. If they don’t award you the Navy Cross, I will.”

  “I notice you blew apart the pier about two seconds away from perfect,” Bear replied.

  “It seemed like a prudent thing to do under the circumstances.”

  Joe smiled. “We hadn’t even thought about that one when we what-if’d what we might need to do.”

  “That dock was a classic World War II Seabee design, and goodness knows my dad built enough of them. Use a small charge to blow a hole in the center pillar, then put a brick of C-4 inside the pillar’s hollow core and blow that. It’s literally like blowing a chimney apart. You just have to know the metal beam is hollow. If Dad built it, he wanted to know how I would blow it up. It was one of his favorite Saturday afternoon questions. I’ve done that dock before, just never live.”

  “We owe the medal to your dad.”

  “I just wish I could tell him the story.”

  They shared a smile. They both knew this mission would never declassify in their lifetimes. Joe returned to the problem. “We should have known the mission was blown.”

  “How?”

  “None of the tangos came out to meet the boat. I knew it was wrong. We should have taken the time to send a reconnaissance team around behind the beach.” They had considered it during the mission work-up but in the end ruled it out. It took time, split their men, and ran a high risk of an accidental encounter destroying the surprise factor.

  “We would have still gone to get the device.”

  “The other side not only knew we were coming, but they also knew it far enough in advance to set up that reception committee. I want to know where the leak is,” Bear replied grimly.

  “Do you think Raider deliberately fed us false information through that contact in Hong Kong?”

  “After that mission three years ago, he had to know that he had a mole somewhere in his organization or we would never have been able to intercept that K-42. Why not feed out bad information at a critical time and watch us react? It’s what I would do.” They were getting outmaneuvered by the man and it was time for it to stop. Past time.

  “He picked the wrong platoon to mess with.”

  Bear nodded. Somebody had just punched a grizzly bear, and he could feel the fury. “I want this man, Boomer.”

  Twenty-Six

  * * *

  Their flight arrived back on Naval Air Station North Island at 1400 hours, Monday. Joe stood at the base of the ramp as the men filed off the cargo plane in pairs, carrying their personal gear. He watched faces, reading eyes, seeing what he had expected in the grim expressions. Getting shot at when it was a setup did not sit well with any of them. This was a mission they would debrief in earnest. They would learn from it.

  He saw Boomer and Christi meet each other, Boomer’s long hug that did not let go. His friend had almost gotten himself killed taking those extra few seconds to blow up the dock. Boomer had done it without hesitation to protect the rest of the team, but it had been a decision that had ramifications. Boomer had come close to never seeing his wife again. Joe could feel that emotion across the tarmac and understood its depths. If he
had been forced to face Christi and tell her Boomer was not coming home as he had once been forced to face Kelly—Joe knew it would have destroyed Christi.

  The last of the men came down the ramp. Joe thanked the pilot who had expedited their return home. The supply crews came in to begin unloading the heavy equipment. Joe picked up his own gear.

  Kelly waved to get his attention. Joe hesitated and then moved toward her. He could see she had been worried, had spent a hard weekend waiting, wondering. Her smile now was broad, full of relief. What would she think if she knew how close it had really been? If it had turned out differently, could she have handled a second time having someone tell her a SEAL in her life was dead?

  He could hide behind the secrecy that was part of his profession and deny to himself just how close it had been; he could forget this mission. He wanted to do that for selfish reasons. He didn’t want to have to deal with the implications. But he had to. He loved this lady.

  “I’m so glad you’re home.”

  Joe returned Kelly’s hug but didn’t let himself draw her close, didn’t let himself do anything more than accept it and then step away. He wanted to wrap his arms around her waist, hug her tight, and kiss her breathless. He loved her so very much. Lord, what have I done? It would destroy Kelly if she came to meet a return flight and I wasn’t on it. The real risk he was asking her to accept was suddenly clear. If something happened, it would destroy that smile. Raider had set him up once; there was no guarantee it wouldn’t happen again. What am I supposed to do? The question was agonizing to answer, for the truth cut into the happiness he longed to have with her.

  He saw some of the happiness in her expression turn to wariness. He brushed his fingers through her hair, forced himself to smile. “Thanks, Kelly. I’m going to be busy here until late tonight. Could you keep Misha for me another night?” He was shutting her out but didn’t know how else to respond. He had to think this through, fast.

  “Of course.” She took a half step back. “Are you okay?”

  “Not even a sprained ankle. Everyone on the team is fine.” He wanted to add “it’s been a very long plane ride” to give her an excuse for his behavior, this distance, but couldn’t do it. It would be hiding behind a convenient excuse. “Call you later?”

  “Sure.” Her disappointment was obvious, but she covered it quickly. “Whenever you’re free.”

  He nodded and reached down for his equipment bag, hating the situation. “Thanks.”

  * * *

  Joe had been so distant.

  Kelly stretched out on the couch, the house around her silent, the time passing slowly as she waited for his call. When she had hugged Joe she wanted to reach up and kiss him, to truly welcome him home. Seeing him had been such a relief, but then she had felt the distance. He was there with her, but not in spirit. His attention was still elsewhere. Had something happened? some-thing gone wrong? She wished she could ask.

  Lord, I don’t know what’s wrong. I only know something is. I can feel it.

  She hoped for the phone to ring. Please let him call. We can talk and clear this up. The silence is disquieting.

  The dinner she had planned was slowly turning into something fit for Misha. At least she had left the steaks in the refrigerator and changed at the last minute to lasagna. The page had come, letting her know the men were on their way home. She had felt enormous relief, much larger than she had ever expected. Joe was back safe. She was going to hold on to that even as the situation roiled with uncertainty.

  She forced herself not to call him. Maybe she had read the situation wrong. He wasn’t Nick. He couldn’t walk home from a mission and let someone else deal with its wrap-up. Joe had a different burden to bear after a mission; he was still working.

  When he was done, he would turn his attention back to her; then she would find out if there really was anything wrong. She didn’t like this delay, but she had to get used to it. Joe wasn’t Nick. She couldn’t expect the same response from him.

  How was she supposed to respond when she saw him next? With Nick it had been simple: launch herself at him and trust him to catch her. Those welcome home hugs had been wonderful. Maybe by the next mission she would have figured out with Joe how this was supposed to work. She buried her head in a pillow at the idea of repeating this night.

  * * *

  “Lincoln, they knew we were coming. The cargo wasn’t on board, so they got word while we were still some distance away. Someone tipped them off.” Joe felt like tearing up the summary as he dropped it to the stack on the desk. His notes written during the return trip were extensive, but they didn’t come close to figuring out how it had happened.

  “We’re looking into it, Bear. When your men have been debriefed, give them a few days liberty, but tell them to stay close. You are unofficially on short notice. Make sure they know that. I can’t put you back into rotation until we get a handle on what happened, make sure the leak didn’t come from our end.”

  Bear was surprised at that. “Sir?”

  “We think Raider is manipulating what is happening from here. Echo and Foxtrot were sent chasing a ghost. Your platoon was set up. And in the middle of it we have Iris Wells turning up dead. Coincidences don’t run in threes.”

  “You think a shipment got through.” It became clear where Lincoln was heading, and it was something Joe had wondered about. The setup they had walked into had been elaborate.

  “I do. I think all too soon we are going to be reacting to something in the world. This Taiwan–China–Hong Kong triangle didn’t appear out of the blue. I want your men rested and ready to go—and on the assumption Raider does have a contact inside, it won’t hurt if he thinks the platoon is standing down for a few days of R and R.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Have the equipment repacked and reloaded. We’re going to put a C-130 on thirty-minute standby until I get a better feel for what’s going on.”

  Joe nodded at the order, accepting the precaution as wise. He did hope they would get a second chance. He needed one. His men needed one.

  “How are the men taking it?” Lincoln had the same perspective he did.

  Joe smiled slightly at the question. “They don’t like getting set up.”

  “Any enemies, Bear?”

  “What?”

  “You got shot; Nick was killed. Three years later it’s your platoon that gets set up. Any reason to believe this is personal? Did you know Iris Wells, by any chance?”

  Joe blinked at the question, at the reach back in time, and was startled to realize he had never connected them that way. The thought shook him that this might be personal. “I didn’t know Iris other than by sight, to walk paperwork over. She was good at her job, didn’t mind sorting out the red tape for us.” His thoughts were racing. Iris. Nick. This setup of his men. Was there a link that ran through him?

  He thought about his trips to personnel, trying to remember where Iris sat, who was around her. “Boomer has a cousin in the personnel department who sits somewhere near Iris. I took her out to the symphony once when Kelly was unavailable. But that’s a reach.” But he had known her. His men had twice faced danger attributed to Raider. If the man was able to follow their movements, manipulate them . . . The possibilities exploded in the back of his mind.

  “Pass that on to the investigators. Pass on any glimmer of a connection between Iris and your platoon. Ask your men to do the same.”

  “Yes, sir.” He’d start his own aggressive search for any such connection. He’d found Iris washed up on the shore and her death was now a critical unknown to solve. “Have they determined what happened? How she died?”

  “There was heavy oil found in her lungs that she could have swallowed only if she had been pretty far out to sea when she went into the water. She had to have gone off a boat, been swimming for quite a while, then couldn’t make it back to shore.”

  “There’s still been no indication of what boat she was on?”

  “Her car was found at a parking lot
down at the harbor launch. No one has come forward indicating they saw her. They are checking every boat in the San Diego and Catalina areas that was out of its slip Sunday.”

  “A needle in a haystack.”

  Lincoln nodded. “They need a break. Desperately.”

  * * *

  He should go get Misha. Joe thought about it but didn’t move from where he sat at the dining room table. He didn’t want to face Kelly yet, didn’t want to look at her and have to deal with the fact he had let the man responsible for killing Nick get away. Tonight he wished he still drank. He sat at the dining room table pushing around the little carved bear with his finger, drinking a 7-Up that tasted stale and wishing another five hours had passed so he would have an excuse to go to bed. He would call Kelly tomorrow. When he figured out what he was going to say.

  “Bear.”

  Joe went to the door, surprised to find his second-in-command here on the night he would’ve expected him to be solely focused on Christi. Joe pushed it open. “Come on in, Boomer.”

  “Got a minute?”

  “Got a year. You want something?”

  “Whatever you’re drinking.”

  Joe scowled at the can. “You don’t want it. This case must have cooked in a truck somewhere. Hold on; I’ll be back with something passable for both of us.”

  He found two root beers and brought them back with glasses of ice, too tired to wonder why Boomer was here. With anyone else he would have covered his own comedown from the failed mission—Boomer understood it without putting it into words. Joe had led the mission; the mission had failed. The fact it had been a setup, the fact he had brought all his men out alive, didn’t cover his fatigue of what might have happened.