Seal Team Ten

by Brockmann, Suzanne

  The world blurred for a second, and then snapped sharply into focus.

  That was smoke he saw coming from the engine. Sweet Jesus, the chopper must have sustained a direct hit. Somehow, Joe had gotten the damned thing up, but it wasn't going to stay in the air too much longer.

  "Tell them you need a medic standing by," Veronica said.

  "We've got bigger problems," Joe told her.

  She saw the smoke, and her eyes widened, but her voice didn't falter as she told him again, "You've been shot. Make sure someone on the Watkins knows that, Joe."

  "We're not going to make it to the Watkins," Joe said. He spoke into his microphone. "Blue, I need you, man."

  "I'm here, and I see you," Blue's familiar Southern drawl sounded in his ears. "You're leaving a trail of smoke like a cheap cigar, Cat. I'm coming out to meet you."

  "Good," Joe said. "Because I'm going to bring this bird low, and Ronnie's gonna jump out into the water, you copy?"

  "I'm not going anywhere without you," Veronica said, adding loudly, loud enough for Blue to hear, "Joe's been hit, and he's bleeding badly."

  "I have a medic standing by," Blue said to Joe. "Is it bad, Cat?"

  Joe ignored Blue's question. "I'm right behind you, Ron­nie," he said to Veronica, knowing damn well that he was tell­ing her a lie. "But I'm not going to ditch this bird until you're clear."

  He could see her indecision in her eyes. She didn't want to leave him.

  God, he was getting light-headed, and this chopper was get­ting harder and harder to handle as he hovered ten feet above the water's surface. The combination was not good.

  "Go," he said.

  "Joe—"

  "Baby, please..." He couldn't hold on much longer.

  "Promise you'll be right behind me?"

  He nodded, praying to God for forgiveness for his lie. "I promise."

  She slid open the door. "I want us to get married right away," she said, and then she was gone.

  The water was cold as ice.

  It surrounded Veronica, squeezing her chest as she surfaced and tried to take in a breath of air.

  But then a boat was there, and hands reached for her, pull­ing her up.

  Veronica ignored the cold as she turned to watch the chop­per, hovering above the waves, its whirling blades turning the ocean into choppy whitecaps. Someone wrapped a blanket around her— Blue, it was Blue McCoy, Joe's executive offi­cer.

  The plume of smoke from the helicopter was darker, thicker. And the chopper seemed to lurch instead of holding still.

  "Why won't he jump?" she wondered aloud.

  Before she finished speaking, the helicopter jerked forward and down—into the water.

  She could hear shouting—it was Blue's voice—and she couldn't believe that the noise—some noise, any noise, wasn't coming from her own throat.

  The helicopter was sinking beneath the waves, taking Joe with it, taking all her hopes and dreams for the future away from her.

  "No!" she cried, the word torn from her raggedly.

  "I'm going in after him." It was Blue. "Pull this boat closer."

  "Sir, I can't let you do that," said a young man in a naval uniform. His face was pale. "If the chopper doesn't pull you under, the water's so cold, it'll kill you. You won't last more than five minutes before hypothermia sets in."

  "Pull the damned boat closer, Ensign," Blue said, his voice as cold as the Alaskan water. "I'm a SEAL, and that's my commander down there. I'm going after him."

  The water was cold as ice.

  It roused Joe from his fog as it splashed him in the face.

  Damn, he'd gone down. He didn't remember going down. All he remembered was Ronnie-Ronnie telling him that she wanted to... marry him?

  The last pocket of air bubbled out of the helicopter cockpit.

  No way was he going to die. Ronnie wanted to marry him. No way was he going to drown. Or bleed to death, damn it.

  The water was cold as hell, but it would slow his bleeding.

  All he had to do was get his arms and legs to work.

  But he hurt.

  Every single cell in his body hurt, and it took so much god-dammed effort to lift even a finger.

  This was worse than anything he'd ever experienced, worse even than Hell Week, that torturous final week of SEAL training that he'd lived through so many years ago.

  He'd never wanted anything as badly as he'd wanted to be a SEAL. It had kept him going through the nonstop exertion, through the pain, through the torturous physical demands. "You got to want it badly enough, " one of his instructors had shouted at them, day after day, hour after hour. And Joe had. He'd wanted to be a SEAL. He'd wanted it badly enough.

  He'd wanted to be a SEAL almost as much as he wanted Ve­ronica St. John.

  And she was there, up there, above the surface of that freez­- ing water, waiting for him. All he had to do was kick his legs, push himself free and he would have her. Forever. All he had to do was want it badly enough Veronica stared at the water, at the place where first the he­licopter and then Blue had disappeared.

  Please, God, if you give me this, I'll never ask for anything ever again Seconds ticked into one minute. Two. Three...

  Was it possible for a man to hold his breath for this long, let alone search for a wounded, drowning man... ?

  Please, God.

  And then, all at once, a body erupted from beneath the sur­face of the water. Veronica peered into the area lit by the searchlights. Was that one head or...

  Two! Two heads! Blue had found Joe!

  A cheer went up from the sailors on board the boat, and they quickly maneuvered closer to the two men, and pulled them out.

  Dear God, it was Joe, and he was breathing. Veronica stood aside as the medics sliced his wet clothes from his body. Oh, Lord, he'd been shot in the abdomen, just above his hip. She watched, clutching her own blanket more tightly around her as he was wrapped in a blanket and an IV was attached to his arm.

  "Cat was coming up as I was going down after him," Blue said, respect heavy in his voice. "I think he would have made it, even without me. He didn't want to die. Not today."

  Joe was floating in and out of consciousness, yet he turned his head, searching for something, searching for...

  "Ronnie." His voice was just a whisper, but he reached for her, and she took his hand.

  "I'm here," she said, pressing his fingers to her lips.

  "Did you mean it?" He was fighting hard to remain con­scious. He was fighting, and winning. "When you said you'd marry me?"

  "Yes," she said, fighting her own battle against the tears that threatened to escape.

  Joe nodded. "You know, I'm not going to change," he said. "I can't pretend to be something I'm not. I'm not a prince or a duke or-—"

  Veronica cut him off with a kiss. "You're my prince," she said.

  "Your parents are going to hate me."

  "My parents are going to love you," she countered. "Nearly as much as I do."

  He smiled then, ignoring his pain, reaching up to touch the side of her face. "You really think this could work?"

  "Do you love me?" Veronica asked.

  "Absolutely."

  "Then it will work." The boat was pulling up alongside of the USS Watkins, where a doctor was waiting. From what Ve­ronica had gathered from the medics, they believed the bullet had passed through Joe's body, narrowly missing his vital or­gans. He'd lost a lot of blood, and had to be stitched up and treated for infection, but it could have been worse. It could have been far worse.

  Joe felt himself placed onto a stretcher. He had to release Ronnie's hand as he was lifted up and onto the deck of the Watkins.

  "I love you," she called.

  He was smiling as the doctor approached him, smiling as the nurse added painkiller to his intravenous tube, smiling as he gave in to the drug and let the darkness finally close in around him.

  Joe stared up at the white ceiling in sick bay for a good long time before he figured out where he wa
s and why he couldn't move. He was still strapped down to a bed. He hurt like hell. He'd been shot. He'd been stitched up.

  He'd been promised a lifetime filled with happiness and Ve­ronica St. John's beautiful smile.

  Veronica Catalanotto. He smiled at the idea of her taking his name.

  And then Blue was leaning over him, releasing the re­straints. "Damn, Cat," he said in his familiar drawl. "The doc said you were grinning like a fool when he brought you in here, and here you are again, smiling like a fox in a henhouse."

  "Where's Ronnie?" Joe whispered. His throat was so dry, and his mouth felt gummy. He tried to moisten his dry lips with his tongue.

  Blue turned away, murmuring something to the nurse be­fore he turned back to Joe, lifting a cup of water to his friend's lips. "She's getting checked by the doctor," he told Joe.

  Joe's smile disappeared, the soothing drink of water forgot­ten. "She okay?"

  Blue nodded. "She's just getting a blood test," he said. "Apparently she needs one."

  "Why?"

  "Because I'm hoping to get married," Ronnie said, leaning forward to kiss him gently on the mouth. "That is, if you still have that ring. If you still want me."

  Joe gazed up at her. Her hair was down, loose and curling around her shoulders. She was wearing a sailor suit that was several sizes too large, white flared pants and a white shirt, sleeves rolled up several times. She was wearing no makeup, and her freshly scrubbed face looked impossibly young—and anxious—as she waited for his answer. "Hell, yes," he some­how managed to say.

  She smiled, and Joe felt his mouth curve up into an answer­ing smile as he lost himself in the ocean color of her eyes. “Do you still want me?"

  Blue moved quietly toward the door. "I guess I'll leave you two a—"

  Ronnie turned then, looking up at Joe's XO and best friend. "Wait," she said. "Please?" She looked back at Joe. "I'll marry you, but there's one condition."

  Blue shifted his weight uncomfortably.

  "Anything," Joe said to Veronica. "I'd promise you any­thing. Just name it."

  "It's not something you can promise me," she said. She looked up at Blue again, directly into his turquoise eyes. "I need Blue's promise—to keep Joe safe and alive."

  Blue nodded slowly, taking her words seriously. "I'd die for him," he said, matter-of-factly.

  Veronica had seen them in action. She'd seen Blue dive into the icy Alaskan waters after Joe, and she knew he spoke the truth. It wasn't going to make her fear for Joe's safety disap­pear, but it was going to make it easier.

  "I didn't want to marry you because I was—I am—afraid that you're going to get yourself killed," she said, turning back to Joe. "I knew I couldn't ask you to leave the SEALs and..."

  She saw his eyes narrow slightly as he understood her words. "Then..."

  Veronica felt more than saw Blue slip from the room as she leaned forward to kiss Joe's lips. "I wasn't 'slumming.'" She mock shuddered. "Nasty expression, that."

  He laced his fingers through her hair, wariness and concern in his eyes. "I can't leave the SEALs, baby—"

  She silenced him with another kiss. "I know. I'm not asking you to. I'm not going to quit my job and become a career navy wife, either," Veronica told Joe. "I'll travel and work—the same as you. But whenever you can get leave time, I'll be there."

  As she gazed into Joe's midnight-dark eyes, the last of his reservations drained away, leaving only love—pure and pow­erful. But then he frowned slightly. "Your ring's back in Little Creek, "he said.

  "I don't need a ring to know how much you love me," Ve­ronica whispered.

  Joe touched his chest, realized he was wearing a hospital gown, then pressed the call button for the nurse.

  A young man appeared almost instantly. "Problem, sir?"

  "What happened to my uniform?" Joe demanded.

  "There wasn't much left of it after the medics cut it off you, sir." The nurse gestured toward a small table just out of reach of the bed. "Your personal gear is in that drawer."

  "Thanks, pal," Joe said.

  "Can I get you anything, sir?"

  "Just some privacy," Joe told him, and the nurse left as quickly as he had come.

  Joe turned to Veronica. "Check in that drawer for me, will you, baby?"

  Veronica stood up and crossed to the table. She pulled open the drawer. There were three guns inside, several rounds of ammunition, something that looked decidedly like a hand gre­nade, a deadly-looking knife, several bills of large denomina­tions, a handful of change...

  "There should be a gold pin," Joe said. "It's called a 'Bud-weiser.'"

  A gold pin in the shape of an eagle with both an ocean tri­dent and a gun, it was Joe's SEAL pin, one of his most pre­cious possessions. He'd gotten it on the day he graduated, the day he became a Navy SEAL. Veronica took it from the drawer. It felt solid and heavy in her hand as she carried it to Joe.

  But he didn't take it from her. He wrapped her fingers around it. "I want you to have it."

  Veronica stared at him.

  "There are two things I've never given anyone," he said quietly. "One is this pin. The other is my heart." He smiled at her. "Now you got 'em both. Forever."

  He pulled her head down to him and kissed her so gently, so sweetly, so perfectly.

  And Veronica realized again what she'd known for quite some time.

  She had found her prince.

  END

  2 - Forever Blue

  For Jodie Kuhlman and Patricia McMahon, for their amazing brainstorming power and naming skill, and for Sarah Telford, for lending Lucy her little black dress.

  Prologue

  Lieutenant Blue McCoy was the point man, leading the six other men of SEAL Team Ten's Alpha Squad across the marshlike ground. He moved painstakingly slowly, inch by inch through the darkness, touching, feeling the soft, loamy earth; searching for booby traps and land mines before ac­tually putting his weight down on any one spot.

  He watched the shadows, scanning the brush in front of him, memorizing the placement of each faintly silhouetted leaf and branch, alert to even the most minute movement.

  The sounds of the night surrounded him. Insects buzzed and clicked; a dog barked maybe a mile away. An owl called through the darkness, its eerie cry proclaiming itself lord of this nocturnal domain, king of this night world.

  It was a world in which Blue McCoy belonged, a world where he could lead a group of men so silently and invisibly through the darkness that the crickets at their feet didn't sense their presence.

  It had taken them more than an hour to cross the open field. Five more yards and they'd be in the cover of the brush. They'd be able to move faster then. Faster, but no less cautiously.

  Blue listened, so in tune with the land around him that he was the night. His heart beat slowly in time with the silent, age-old rhythm of the earth and he thought of nothing-nothing but survival. All the noises and sounds of the air force base where Alpha Squad had been just ten hours ear­lier had long since evaporated, leaving only the night. There were six other men behind him, but Blue heard not a sound from any of them. He knew they were there only from faith, but it was a faith in which he had no doubts. The other SEALs were guarding his back as he led them forward. He knew they would die to protect him, as certainly as he would give his life for them.

  Blue sniffed the air and froze, catching a faint, musky odor. But a second sniff convinced him that it was only an animal, some kind of rodent that moved as silently through the night as he did. It wasn't a human smell, and human animals were the prey he was hunting tonight.

  Directly through the woods, dead ahead at twelve o'clock, forty yards distant, was a cabin. According to the spooks from FInCOM—the agents from the Federal Intelligence Commission—inside the cabin was United States Senator Mike Branford's fifteen-year-old daughter, Karen. The lat­est infrared satellite photos of the cabin revealed that at least four members of the terrorist group that had kidnapped her were inside the cabin with her. Anoth
er ten people were sleeping in a second structure, twenty yards to the north­east. And two five-man units of terrorists patrolled the sur­rounding woods. Only minutes ago, one of the units had come within four feet of Blue and the Alpha Squad. The unit commander had lit a cigarette, tossing the smoking match inches from Blue's hand before ordering his men to move on.

  With their faces painted green and black, and with their intensive SEAL training, experience and discipline, Alpha Squad was invisible, embraced by the darkness, en­shrouded by the cloak of night.

  As the SEALs positioned themselves in the brush that surrounded the cabin, Blue turned to look at his command­ing officer and best friend, Lieutenant Joe Catalanotto. Blue could barely see Joe Cat's face in the darkness, but he saw the man's nod.

  Time to go.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Blue caught the stealthy movement of Cowboy, Lucky, Bobby and Wes as they faded toward the northeast and the second structure. They were going to secure that building and neutralize the terrorists inside.

  That left Joe Cat and Harvard cooling their heels outside the main cabin while Blue crept inside to snatch back the girl.

  H. stood guard while Joe and Blue scanned the exterior of the cabin, in particular the window that was to be Blue's insertion point, his way in.

  There were no booby traps, no alarms, no extra security. That was because the quarter mile surrounding the cabin was loaded with booby traps, alarms and armed security patrols. It was also because Aldo Fricker, the terrorists' leader, had forgotten the number-one rule: Never assume. The terrorists had left their vulnerable underbelly unpro­tected because they'd assumed that no one would be able to penetrate the fiercely guarded outer perimeters of their compound.

  They were wrong.

  Al Fricker, meet SEAL Team Ten's Alpha Squad.

  As Blue watched, Joe Cat quickly and quietly cut the pane of glass from the cabin's window. Harvard gave Blue a boost up, and he was inside.

  Blue did a quick scan of the interior with his night-vision glasses, quickly locating the senator's young daughter. She was curled up in an old brass bed in the southeast corner of the room. From what he could see she was still alive. The four guards were in sleeping bags or stretched out on the bare floor near the door. Blue took off his NVs and waited several seconds for his eyes to grow accustomed to the dark again, listening to the quiet breathing of the sleeping guards. It wouldn't do any good to wake the girl up while wearing the NVs, looking like some kind of alien from outer space. She was going to be frightened enough as it was.