That meant his orders were coming directly from the President of the United States. “Yes, sir, Mr. Secretary,” Mike said. From somewhere deep inside the Pentagon the two men briefed him from over a speaker phone, which meant he’d be briefing his men en route.
On board the gunship, Mike took the courtesy crash helmet Hannah offered, then tuned out the chatter of her start-up procedures and engine rattle. He spoke into the mouthpiece of the comm he and his men wore and delivered their updated briefing. With the helmet on, Hannah would also be able to hear him.
“Things are getting a little out of hand on the King Neptune. The six hijackers are having a hard time keeping the hundred and three passengers and crew under control. They came up with this number by taking a head count of the onshore passengers in Taiwan and comparing it to the passenger and crew lists. There are eleven Americans on board and the President is counting on us to see that nothing happens to them.
“The hijackers are our familiar Tango partners, al-Ayman. They’re demanding the release of Mullah Kahn’s two sons from Gitmo, along with a list of other prisoners being held in the U.S. and allied nations.
“You can imagine the President’s response to that. But here’s our deal. We’ve got to take these guys in international waters because we have no less than ten countries breathing down our necks on this one. Zero civilian causalities. We go in. We do our job. And we do it clean.”
“Mac?” Itch asked. “Did they find out if your parents were on board?”
“Yes, my folks are on board.”
HANNAH’S HEART just about stopped when she heard that, but she kept on course at an air speed of one hundred and eighty knots. Shortly after McCaffrey’s heart-wrenching pronouncement came the command to “Stand down.”
The hijackers had surrendered to the Australian government. Since the cruise liner was registered to Australia, the Aussie equivalent of the SEALs, the SASR—Special Air Services Regiment—got the nod and was heading toward the King Neptune.
Mike’s and Hannah’s teams had been debriefed aboard the USS Enterprise, returned to Guam and were now on their way back home on a C-130. Mike hadn’t spoken a word to Hannah since their mission was aborted.
The part of the task force in the P.I. had taken down a cargo ship of terrorist weapons that had been on a collision course for a port in Bali to make a statement. If this was any other mission she would have attributed McCaffrey’s sullen silence to being left out of the action. But she imagined he had a lot more on his mind right now, like relief, and no way to release it.
“I wonder if your parents will be taking the free cruise they earned anytime soon,” she said, trying to break the ice.
“Excuse me.” He drained his cup, tossed the empty to the trash and opened the head door. She shoved him inside and locked the door behind them. “What the—”
She slammed the full weight of her body against him, her mouth hot and heavy on his. Panting from the onslaught, he pulled her off by the shoulders. They locked gazes. Just when she thought he was going to shake her, he returned his mouth to hers full force.
She fumbled with his belt. His zipper. His buttons. Heard the rasp of her flight-suit zipper. His hands were everywhere. It was all she could do to hang on. He drove into her hard, demanding. She was wet, responding to his need. Her want.
The C-130’s engines roared in her ears and hummed through her body. She bit back his name.
He slumped against her. Then he pulled away. And began to get dressed. “What the hell, Stanton, you had the sudden urge to join the mile-high club?”
“You looked…tense.”
“And you’re—what? My tension reliever? Thanks, I’m so calm now.” The hand he raked through his hair was shaking.
She ignored his bluster and held his hand, then kissed it. “I just thought that since we were gonna go to hell and back together, I’d try and make the return trip a little more enjoyable.”
“Together, huh?”
“Get used to it. Homonoia. Homophrosune. Oneness of mind and heart. You did say for all eternity.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
NAVAL AMPHIBIOUS BASE
Coronado, California
“WHO’S COMING HOME TODAY?” Mike held Fallon under her arms in the water.
“Fal-lon,” she said in her sweet baby singsong.
“No,” he said. “Hold your breath.” She pursed her little lips. He pulled her under with him. Held her there. Let her go. She kicked toward him through the chlorine blue water. Bubbles escaped her mouth as she smiled, and he brought her to the surface again.
She took a surprised breath.
“Who’s coming home today?”
“Dad-dy.”
“No.” He shook his head. “Daddy’s right here.”
“Dad-dy,” she repeated.
“Momma’s coming home today!”
“Dad-dy!” she argued.
“You gotta give me this one, Fallon,” he said, carrying her out of the pool. “It’s been a long time since we’ve seen Momma. Six whole months. Momma’s gonna be so excited to see you.” They’d had a good twelve months together as a family before Hannah had deployed. Well, almost a family. Circumstances had kept them from tying the knot, and they weren’t officially husband and wife…yet.
“Dad-dy.”
It was his fault. He was the parent who’d been lucky enough to spend more time with their daughter. He’d covered some ops in his old stomping grounds, the P.I., but HCS-9 had relieved HCS-5 in Kuwait on a six-month rotation.
He’d forbidden the word Momma, when Fallon started calling her aunt that. He’d shown her Hannah’s picture every day. They had the camera phone, baby cam and e-mail. And this past week he and Sammy and Rosemary had T-shirts made with Hannah’s picture on them.
Still not a Momma out of Fallon’s stubborn little mouth.
Their swim instructor handed them their certificate as they were leaving. He’d only missed two classes in the six-week course, and Samantha had filled in for him.
“Who are we?” he asked.
“Tadpo’es.”
“Tadpoles,” he agreed with the certificate to prove it. She had a good vocabulary for a two-year-old, just not the one word he was desperate for.
They changed and drove home.
“How was swimming today?” Sammy greeted them, taking Fallon from him. “I’ll bet she’s hungry. I’ll feed her. Then change her.”
“Sam-my.” Fallon reached for her aunt.
“Graduated top of the Tadpoles,” Mike bragged.
“Michael.” Rosemary came down the stairs carrying a box. “I found this and you said if I ever found any of Van’s things to run them by you. I believe these are the personal effects the Navy delivered. I never could bring myself to open the thing.”
“Thank you, Rosemary,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. Not because he was in the habit of kissing his soon-to-be mother-in-law. But because he was so happy. He took the box from her and carried it to the kitchen table.
He’d asked Rosemary to move back in temporarily, when Hannah had deployed and he’d moved into Hannah’s room. Now that he was there he had no intention of moving out. Fallon was settled across the hall. It was time for Hannah and him to have their nights together, at least until the next time one or both of them deployed.
He broke the seal and lifted the lid.
Rosemary stood by wringing her hands. “Well.”
He lifted out a large birthday-wrapped package.
“Oh, my. I’d forgotten,” she said. “He always bought his gifts in advance.”
Mike knew all about that. It was something he’d always done himself. And before Hannah left, they’d sat down and planned all the birthdays and holidays she’d miss. Including Fallon’s second birthday. The other items in the box were things you might find in a guy’s locker, things he’d want with him but wouldn’t want to take into the field. His wallet. His wedding ring. Pictures of his family.
Rosemary sorted through the it
ems, eyes glistening with tears. It seemed Van had one last letter in there. She tucked it away to read in private later.
“It’s almost time,” he said, checking his watch.
“Fallon’s ready,” Sammy announced.
“Do you have the invitations?” Mike asked. “I’ll drop them in the mail on the way.”
Rosemary handed over the wedding invitations. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“I’m hedging my bet,” he said, taking Fallon from her aunt. “Ready to go get Momma, sweet pea?” His daughter wore yellow, and he wore his Hannah T-shirt.
On the way to the base he tried several more times to get Fallon to say Momma.
“Look who’s coming,” he said, finally spotting her on the tarmac. His chest squeezed so tight he couldn’t breathe.
Fallon looked. Cried. Buried her face in his shoulder.
“Oh, Fallon, come on. Not now.”
She cried louder.
Hannah spotted them and picked up her pace. He wrapped his arm around her and hugged her close. Tears pricked her eyes. She forced a weak smile for their daughter who wouldn’t even look at her.
“Look, Fallon,” Mike cajoled. “Momma’s home.” He tried to pry their daughter from his arms to place her in her mother’s.
“Don’t,” Hannah insisted. “She’ll come to me when she’s ready.” She brushed her daughter’s hair. Fallon looked up, still crying, always so mad at Hannah during these reunions. But they saw their chance, and Mike slipped Fallon into Hannah’s waiting arms.
Fallon continued to cry. Hannah began to cry. “I know, baby, Momma smells like dirty socks.”
Some glimmer of recognition sparked. Fallon looked at her father and then back at her mother. She stopped crying long enough to suck her thumb.
“You’re so big! Momma’s missed you so much. You don’t even remember me, do you? That’s okay.”
Mike felt about as helpless as Hannah looked.
Fallon rested her head against Hannah’s breast. “Mom-ma,” she said. The sweetest word Mike had ever heard.
“Momma,” Hannah repeated, tears streaming down her face.
“I missed you, Han,” he said. “I had something else planned, but I can’t wait any longer.” He reached into the diaper bag. Encouraged by the light in her eyes, he continued, “I’ve been carrying this around for a couple of months now, waiting for you to come home. I know you can’t wear a ring in the cockpit…” he opened the ring box to show her a simple gold chain and three baby rings, each with their birthstones “…but I thought you might be able to take this along.”
He waited for recognition to dawn. Her birthstone was a miniature of her class ring, as was his. It was customary for an officer to give his sweetheart a miniature of his class ring when he proposed.
“I love…it,” she said with tears in her eyes.
“Is that a yes?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’ll need this,” he said, digging into his jeans pocket. “Decoder ring, right out of a Cracker Jack box.” He slipped the single solitaire on her left ring finger.
Captain and Mrs. Jon Jordan “JJ” Loring
request the honor of your presence
at the marriage of her daughter
Hannah C. Stanton
Lieutenant Commander, United States Navy Reserve
to
Commander Sean Michael “Mac” McCaffrey,
United States Navy
on Saturday, the twenty-second of July
at ten o’clock
Base Chapel, Naval Air Station Fallon
and afterward at the reception
Silver State Officers’ Club
Fallon, Nevada
RSVP
Uniform
(619)545-XXXX
Service Dress Whites
NAVAL AIR STATION
Fallon, Nevada
HANNAH STEPPED ONTO the white carpet. Alone.
In marriage as in life, one should start out as one intended to go along. For Hannah that meant without leaning on any man.
However, just because she didn’t need one, didn’t mean she didn’t want one.
Mike adjusted the collar of his Dress Whites and she smiled. Yeah, she’d bet he was sweating under there. But after the mother of the bride was seated, the lieutenant escorts hooked on their swords and there were enough armed swordsmen in the room to see that the groom wasn’t going anywhere.
And when Mike’s gaze locked on her, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he was here to stay. She was glad she’d chosen to wear the simple sleeveless white gown instead of her uniform, because his eyes lit up the chapel.
She carried a bouquet of white and champagne roses.
Syd, Meg and Sammy, in their champagne brides-maids’ dresses all preceded her up the aisle. She was glad to see that her old college roommate had made it to the wedding, as well as Peter.
Fallon followed Sammy, dropping her rose petals, then stopping and bending over to pick them up, even as Sammy urged her forward.
When Fallon saw her daddy, she dropped her basket and ran to him. He picked her up and Hannah met them at the altar.
Everything else was just a blur. Until it came time to kiss the bride. Then the day was just perfect.
They’d done it. They’d actually done it!
Following their trip back up the aisle, and family-filled photo opportunities, came the Arch of Swords. The chapel door opened with his lieutenants on one side, hers on the other. Even Spence. All gleaming white in their Service Dress best.
“Officers, draw swords.” The command was given by Mike’s Executive Officer. The swords were drawn from their scabbards in one continuous motion, each rising to touch the tip of the opposite sword. “Invert swords.” A quick turn of the wrist so that the cutting edge was up.
“Ready?” Mike asked, taking her hand while holding Fallon in the other arm.
“How fast can you run?” Hannah asked.
“Oh, no, you’re not getting out of this one. It’s tradition,” he teased. They ran down the chapel steps and through the Arch of Swords to the cheers of their bird-seed-throwing family and friends.
The last swordsman in line, Mike’s XO, whacked her on the butt. “Welcome to the Navy, Mrs. McCaffrey.” Hannah paused long enough to glare at Ajax, and he popped to attention. Saluted with his sword. “I mean, welcome to the Navy, Lieutenant Commander McCaffrey, ma’am!”
She’d agreed to marry Mike only after her two years of active duty service were up. She was, of course, still a weekend warrior, ready and waiting for the call to serve. And she’d have plenty of time after the honeymoon to decide her next career move.
She could go back to work for Hall-Petrone, but she thought maybe, for the next couple of years anyway, weekend warrior/stay-at-home mom sounded just about right. The dream was for more babies and for Mike to retire young enough to enjoy them. But for now, living in the moment was enough.
Mike handed Fallon over to his mom outside the waiting limo. Fallon would be staying with her cousins for the duration of the honeymoon.
Hannah crawled into the back seat, and Mike climbed in beside her. Maybe they’d drive to Grime’s Point before heading to the reception, which was right across the street.
There was a birthday present on the seat across from them, torn and faded with age. “Wedding present,” he said somberly. “Your father wanted to be here and couldn’t.”
“Don’t make me cry on my wedding day.” She didn’t make a move to pick it up. Instead she clung to his hand.
“Aren’t you going to open it?”
“I already know what it is,” she said. “I think I’d like to save it for Fallon. Maybe for her seventh birthday.”
ISBN: 978-1-4592-2880-1
THE SEAL’S BABY
Copyright © 2004 by Rogenna Brewer.
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