Seal Team Ten

by Brockmann, Suzanne

  She heard herself shout as, in the space of one single heartbeat, Garvin fired the gun.

  The force of the bullet hit Crash square in the chest and he was flung back, his head flopping like a rag doll's as he was pushed down and back, into the dirt.

  Crash was dead. He had to be dead. Even if he was still alive, there was no way they could get him to a hospital in time. The nearest medical center was miles away. It would take them hours to get there and he'd surely bleed to death on the way.

  She ran toward him and was the first at his side as the SEALs disarmed Garvin and wrestled him to the ground.

  Crash was struggling to breathe, fighting to suck in air, but she didn't find the massive outpouring of blood that she'd expected. She took his hand, holding it tightly. "Please don't die," she told him. "Please, Billy, don't you die...."

  Harvard—the big African-American SEAL—knelt in the dirt, on the other side of Crash's body. He tore open Crash's shirt and she closed her eyes, afraid of what she would see.

  "Status?" another man asked. It was the squad's captain.

  "He got the wind knocked out of him," Harvard's rich voice said. "Could be he's got a broken rib, but other than that, as soon as he catches his breath, he should be fine."

  He should be...?

  Nell opened her eyes. "Fine? He's got a bullet in his chest!"

  "What he's got is a bullet in his body armor—his bul­letproof vest." Harvard smiled at her. "Just be careful not to hug little Billy too hard, all right?"

  Crash was wearing a bulletproof vest. She could see the bullet embedded in it, flattened. He had been bluffing with the C-4. She hadn't quite believed it—until now. He'd had no real intention of blowing himself up along with Garvin. If he had, he wouldn't have bothered wearing a bulletproof vest.

  He was alive—and he wanted to be.

  Nell couldn't stop herself. She burst into tears.

  Crash struggled to sit up. "Hey." His voice was whis pery and weak. He reached for her, and she slipped into his arms. "Aren't you always telling me that you never cry—that you're not the type to always cry?"

  She lifted her head to look at him. “This must be just another fluke."

  He laughed, then winced. "Ouch."

  "Will it hurt if I kiss you?"

  "Yeah," Crash said quietly, aware that Alpha Squad had taken Garvin away, that he and Nell were alone in the clear­ing. He touched her cheek, marveling at the picture she made with that war paint on her face. Nell, his unadven-turous Nell, who'd rather stay home and sit by the fire with a book than risk getting her feet cold, was cammied up and ready for battle. She'd done that for him, he realized. "It's always going to hurt a little bit when you kiss me. I'm always going to be scared to death of losing you."

  "You can't lose me," she said fiercely. "So don't even try. I've got you, and I'm not going to let go."

  Crash kissed her. "And if I ever leave you, it won't be because I want to."

  Her eyes filled with fresh tears as she kissed him again.

  "I don't know where I'm going from here," he pulled back to tell her bluntly. "Even if the Navy wants me back, I'm not sure the SEAL Teams will want anything to do with me. I know the Gray Group won't touch me after this. Too many people know my face now. And I also know I can't handle some backroom Navy desk job, so..."

  "You don't have to decide any of that right now," she told him, smoothing his hair back from his face. "Give yourself some time. You haven't even let yourself properly mourn Jake."

  "I feel like I..." He stopped himself, amazed at what he'd almost revealed, without even thinking. But now that he was thinking, he knew he had to say it. He wanted to say it. "I feel like I can't ask you to marry me without making sure you realize that right now my entire life is kind of in upheaval."

  "Kind of in upheaval? That's kind of an understatement, don't you..."

  Crash knew the moment when she realized exactly what he had said.

  Ask you to marry me...

  She started to cry again.

  "Oh, my God," she said softly. "I know about the up­heaval. So you can. Ask me. I mean, if you want."

  "You're crying again," he pointed out.

  "This doesn't count," she told him. "Tears of happiness don't count."

  Crash laughed. "Ouch!"

  "Oh, God, I've got to stop making you laugh."

  He caught her chin, holding her so that she had to look into his eyes. "No," he said. "Don't. Not ever, okay?"

  "So...you love me because I make you laugh..."

  Crash lost himself in the beautiful blue of her eyes. "No." He whispered the words he knew she wanted to hear, the words he could finally say aloud. "I love you...and you make me laugh." He kissed her, losing him­self in the softness of her lips. "You know I'd die for you."

  She fingered the edge of his bulletproof vest. "I know you'd live for me, too. That's much harder to do."

  "So, do you want to..." his lips were dry and he moist­ened them "...marry me?" He realized how offhanded that sounded and quickly reworded it. "Please, will you marry me?"

  Nell made a noise that sounded very much like an affir mative as she reached for him. He held her tightly, aware that she was crying. Again.

  He tasted salt as he kissed her. "Was that a yes?"

  "Yes." This time she was absolutely clear.

  Crash kissed her again as the shadows finally shifted, as the sun finally cleared the mountain, bathing them in warmth.

  And he knew that the next leg of his journey—and he hoped it was going to be a long, long stretch—was going to be made in the light.

  Chapter 17

  “Where are we?" Crash asked.

  The driver didn't answer. He simply opened the door and stood back so that Crash could climb out.

  He snapped to attention, and Crash realized that there was an admiral standing by the front door of the building. An admiral. They'd sent an admiral to escort him to his debriefing...?

  Crash was glad Nell had made him wear his dress uni­form. The row of medals across his chest nearly rivaled those the admiral was wearing.

  The admiral stepped forward, holding out his hand to shake. "Glad to finally meet you, Lieutenant Hawken. I'm Mac Forrest. I don't know why we haven't met before this."

  Crash shook the older man's hand. Admiral Forrest was lean and wiry, with a thick shock of salt-and-pepper hair and blue eyes that looked far too young for a face with as many wrinkles as his had.

  "Is this where the debriefing is being held?" Crash looked up at the elegant architecture of the stately old building as the admiral led him inside. He took off his hat as he looked around. The lobby was large and pristine, with a white-marble-tiled floor. "I don't think I've ever been here before."

  Forrest led the way down a hall. "Actually, Lieutenant, not many people have been here before. This is a FInCOM safe house."

  "I don't understand."

  Mac Forrest stopped in front of a closed door. “Hold on to your hat, son. I've got an early Christmas present for you." He nodded at the door. "Go on in," he said as he turned and started down the hall. "I'll be back in a bit."

  Crash watched him walk away, then looked at the door. It was a plain, oak door with an old-fashioned glass door­knob, like a giant glittering diamond. He reached out and turned it, and the door swung open.

  He wasn't sure what he'd expected to see on the other side of that door, but he sure hadn't expected to see a bed­room.

  It was decorated warmly, with rich, dark-colored curtains surrounding big windows that made the most of the weak December sunshine.

  In the center of the room was a hospital bed, surrounded by monitors and medical equipment.

  And in the center of the bed was Jake Robinson.

  He looked pale and fragile, and he was still hooked up to quite a few of those monitors, with an IV drip in his arm, but he was very, very, very much alive.

  Crash couldn't speak. Tears welled in his eyes. Jake was alive!

  "Let me start by
saying that I wanted to tell you," Jake said. "But it was a week before I was out of intensive care, and nearly another week before I was even aware that you didn't know I was still alive. And then you were gone and there was no way to let you know."

  Crash closed the door behind him, fighting the emotion that threatened to choke him, to make him break down and cry like a baby. Detach. Separate. Distance...

  What the hell was he doing?

  This was joy he was feeling. This was incredible relief, heart-stopping happiness. Yes, he wanted to cry, but they would be good tears.

  "I'm sorry you had to go through all that thinking that I was dead," Jake said quietly. "Mac Forrest made the decision to release the news that I'd died. He thought I'd be safer that way."

  Crash laughed, but it sounded kind of crazy, more like a sob than real laughter. "This is so unbelievably great." His voice broke. As he crossed to Jake, he pulled a chair over to the bed and clasped the older man's hand in both of his. "Are you really all right? You look like hell, like you've been hit by a truck."

  If Jake noticed the tears that were brimming in his eyes, he didn't comment. "I'm going to be fine. It's going to take a little while, but the doctor says I'll be up and walking in no time. No permanent damage—a few more scars."

  Crash shook his head. "I should have known. It was so easy to escape after the hearing. I should have realized I was being let go."

  "They gave you a little bit of help, but not much. There were only a few people who were allowed to know I was alive." He squeezed Crash's hand. "Good job with Garvin. That was one hell of a tape you made."

  "I'm lucky I had Alpha Squad there to back me up."

  "Speaking of Alpha Squad—you met Mac Forrest on your way in?"

  Crash nodded.

  "Alpha Squad's under his command. He asked me to let you know that there's been a special request made for your reassignment. Captain Joe Catalanotto's asking for you to be placed on his team. He sent a personal note to Mac along with all the paperwork. These guys really want you to work with them."

  Crash couldn't speak again. "I'm honored they want me," he finally said.

  "I'm glad to see you finally got a haircut. The pictures they kept flashing of you on the news were pretty scary-looking."

  Crash ran his hand back through his freshly cut hair. "Yeah, Nell likes it better this way, too."

  "Nell." Jake said. "Nell. Would that be the same Nell who used to work for Daisy? Pretty girl? Great smile? Head-over-heels in love with you?"

  "Don't be a jackass."

  Jake grinned. "That's Admiral Jackass to you, Lieuten­ant."

  "Jake, I can't tell you how glad I am that you're not dead."

  "Back at you with that, kid. I'm also glad you finally opened your damn eyes and saw what you had right there in front of you, ready to fall into your lap." He paused. "You did manage to get yourself straightened out about Nell?"

  "Actually, I haven't," Crash admitted. "I'm totally tied in knots when it comes to her." He smiled ruefully. "But I'm loving every minute of it. She's crazy enough to want me, and I'm sane enough to know that I'd be an idiot to let her get away. You know, she's marrying me on Christ­mas. Will you stand up for me, Jake—be my best man?"

  Now there were tears in Jake's eyes, but still he tried to joke. "I'm not sure if I'm going to be standing by then."

  "Can we have the wedding here? There's no law that says the best man literally has to stand."

  Jake held his hand more tightly. "I'd love that. It would be an honor."

  It had only been a year since Crash had done Jake that very same honor.

  "Daisy always knew that Nell was perfect for me," Crash said quietly.

  "Daisy was...extraordinarily good at seeing the truth, even when it was hidden from the rest of the world's view." Jake looked away, but not before Crash saw the flash of pain in his eyes. "God, I still miss her so much."

  "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..."

  Jake looked up at him. "Shouldn't have what? Said her name? Remembered how much we both loved her? Are you kidding?"

  "I don't know. I just thought—"

  "Twenty years," Jake said. "I had her for over twenty years. I would've loved forty or sixty, even. But twenty wasn't bad. Twenty was a gift." He looked up, pinning Crash with the intensity of his gaze. "Make every minute count, kid. Pay attention and really make sure you experi­ence every step of the dance. You never know how many times you'll get to go around the floor."

  Crash nodded. "I'm glad you didn't die."

  "Me too, Billy. Me too, kid."

  It was supposed to be a private wedding.

  But when Nell's father opened the door to Jake Robin son's hospital room in the FInCOM safe house, there were so many people there, he and Nell almost couldn't fit in­side.

  Lucy and Blue McCoy were there. Harvard and his wife, P.J., were there, too. Even Captain Catalanotto and his fam­ily had come. Bobby and Wes and Lucky were present, as was Crash's swim buddy Cowboy and his new wife. Cow­boy was holding a baby who was his exact spitting image— and he was holding the little boy comfortably, as if the kid were an extension of his arm. It was a pretty amazing sight to see.

  But it wasn't half as amazing as the sight of Nell, walk­ing into that room on her father's arm. She was wearing a beautiful antique gown she'd found downtown in a sec­ondhand shop. Although it was a traditional-style wedding dress, with long sleeves and a high collar, it looked incred­ible on her. Even Daisy would have approved.

  "I thought this was supposed to be a wedding," she said, still looking around at all the extra guests with a smile, "not a surprise party."

  "I called Blue to see if anyone was going to be in town, because we needed another witness," Crash told her. "Turns out everyone was in town."

  Nell looked around, and Crash knew she realized that each and every one of his friends had come here purposely to support him. Like her parents, they'd changed all of their Christmas plans to be here today.

  Her father raised her veil and kissed her before giving her to Crash.

  "I'm so glad all your friends could come," she whis­pered to him as she squeezed his hand.

  The ceremony passed in a blur. Crash tried to slow it down, tried to pay complete attention to the promises he was making, but the truth was, he would have promised this woman anything. And he would fight with his last breath to keep those promises.

  The pastor finally told him that he could kiss his bride, and as he kissed his new wife's sweet lips, he tasted salt.

  She was crying again.

  He looked at her questioningly, touching her cheek, and she shook her head.

  "Tears of joy don't count," she whispered.

  He laughed and kissed her again, holding her close and knowing that no matter how long they had together—one year or one hundred—he would cherish every moment.

  END

  7 - The Admiral's Bride (1999)

  For Nancy Peeler. We miss you guys!

  Prologue

  Vietnam, 1969

  Sergeant Matthew Lange had been left to die.

  His leg was badly broken and he had shrapnel embedded in his entire right side. It hadn't hit anything vital. He knew, because he'd been hit hours ago and he wasn't dead yet. And that was almost a shame.

  His morphine wasn't working. He not only hurt like hell but he was still alert enough to know what was coming.

  The soldier next to him knew, too. He lay there, crying softly. Jim was his name. Jimmy D'Angelo. He was just a kid, really—barely eighteen—and he wasn't going to get any older.

  None of them were.

  There were a dozen of them there, United States Marines, hiding and bleeding in the jungle of a country too small to have been mentioned in fifth-grade geography class. They were too badly injured to walk out, but most of 'em were

  still conscious, still alive enough to know that sometime within the next few hours, they were going to die.

  Charlie was coining.

  Probably
right before dawn.

  The Vietcong had launched a major offensive yesterday morning, and Matt's platoon had been one of several trapped by the attack. They were now God knows how many clicks behind enemy lines, with no chance of rescue.

  Hours ago, Captain Tyler had radioed for help, but help wasn't coming. There were no chopper pilots insane enough to fly into this hot spot. They were on their own.

  But then the bomb dropped—close to literally. Well, at least it would be dropping literally, come morning. The captain had been ordered out of the area. He was told that in an attempt to halt the Vietcong, the Americans would be napalming this very mountain in less than twelve hours.

  There had been twenty injured men. They'd outnum­bered the uninjured by more than two to one.

  Captain Tyler had played God, choosing the eight least wounded to drag out of there. He'd looked at Matt, looked at his leg, and he'd shaken his head. No. He'd had tears in his eyes, not that that helped much now.

  Father O'Brien had been the only one to stay behind.

  Matt could hear his quiet voice, murmuring words of comfort to the dying men.

  If Charlie found them, he'd use bayonets to kill them. He wouldn't want to waste bullets on men who couldn't fight back. And Matt couldn't fight back. His right arm was useless, his left too weak to shoulder his weapon. Most of the other guys were worse than he was. And he couldn't picture Father O'Brien picking up someone's machine gun and giving Charlie a mouthful of lead.

  No, bayonets or burning. That's what their future had come down to.

  Matt felt like weeping along with Jimmy.

  "Sarge?"

  "Yeah, Jim. I'm still here." Like Matt might've walked away.

  "You have a family, don't you?"

  Matt closed his eyes, picturing Lisa's sweet face. "Yeah," he said. "I do. Back in New Haven. Connecti­cut." He might as well have said Mars, it seemed as far away. "I got two boys. Matt, Jr., and Mikey." Lisa had wanted a little girl. A daughter. He'd always thought there'd be plenty of time for that later.