The Power of a SEAL

by Anne Elizabeth

  “Who is? Dating stuff is mostly weird in the beginning, or so I’m told.”

  He gave her a half grin. “You’re just…too easy to talk to, and I like…spending time with you.”

  “So are you, for the record. You’re easy to chat with, to kiss, and to overall be with.” She opened the napkin, holding her burger and stuffed cheesy french fries between the meat patties. “I still can’t believe we went nighttime free diving and made love in a boat. Who does that?”

  “Me. I love the water. And I know you do too. We…click on a lot of levels. I need to let go of my…trepidation.”

  Kerry sighed. “Would it make you feel better if I bared my soul right now?”

  Leaper nodded. “Maybe. But I have to tell you,” he said, cracking a smile, “I can appreciate the fact you called me on my shit. You’ve got guts, lady. Any SEAL worth his salt admires fortitude in a lady.” Nailing the truth, being able to spot an evasion and get to the absolute heart of a matter, was a personality trait most good SEALs had. This lady had serious gusto, and he admired it, even if he was massively uncomfortable being on the hot seat.

  “Goodness. Thanks.” Kerry narrowed her gaze. “Guess I must really like you. Okay. Here it goes. This is a seriously embarrassing moment. When I was ten years old, I was stacked. I went from flat chested to a B cup practically overnight, and I was very self-conscious. So I did silly things like wear oversize T-shirts and walk with my shoulders hunched. The next year, my cup size changed to a D, and I was horrified, so I tried to strap my boobs down with an Ace bandage. During gym class, it came unwound, and I was hugely embarrassed. The boy I sort of liked made a grab for my breasts in front of everyone. I knew he was trying to be a big man, but I was furious. I decked him. From that day forward, they called me Combat Kerry.”

  “Good for you for decking him,” said Leaper with an appreciative grin. “Standing up for yourself is important.”

  “Right! I thought so too.” Her smile was huge. “I got suspended, but it was worth it. From then on, though, I never wore big shirts or hunched my shoulders. I never hid anything about my body or personality. People either liked me or they didn’t.”

  “I never would have guessed you were ever awkward or shy. Confidence is a useful tool and a serious turn-on,” said Leaper as he toasted her with his milk shake. He took a long sip and then placed it back in the cup holder. “Okay. My turn. If you decide anything I say isn’t up your alley, I’m cool with us shaking hands and parting. Well, hell, that’s not true. I’ll be hurt, but I’d get it. Okay?”

  She nodded. “Just rip the bandage off.”

  “To be up front, so that you know what you’re signing up for…I’m dealing with some issues from combat.” He said the words quickly.

  “You say that like you’re plunging a knife into your gut. Is it that hard to talk about?” Kerry asked, concern written all over her face.

  “No. Maybe. Yes.” Leaper held up both of his palms in a “stop” gesture. “I’ve never really talked about any of this stuff. So everything is…new territory. I chat with my best bud, Declan, but…not in depth.” He dropped his hands into his lap. “I’m not sure when or how it will come up, but if I need space, I’m going to ask for it, and I won’t justify it. If I want to talk, I hope you’ll want to be there and listen.”

  “Got it. What are the rules of engagement? How do you want me to proceed? Do you want me to prod you or just see where things go?” The thoughtfulness and respect in her tone caught him unaware. Kerry was a gentle soul.

  “The second. Listening is good.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up. Consider me briefed.” Lifting the burger to her mouth, she took a giant bite. Grease dribbled down her chin.

  Turning his attention to his own burger, Leaper lifted the lettuce wrap and chowed down. Sometimes, the succulent taste of good quality food really hit the spot. If it didn’t, well, the grease would help it all slide through in the end. He laughed at his unspoken joke as the atmosphere in the car lightened.

  His phone beeped. He turned off the alarm. “Listen, I have to bounce. My boys are facing live fire today, and I have to settle some logistics before I put them through the ringer this evening. Can we meet tomorrow?”

  “Maybe. I have to work tomorrow, but I’m off the day after. You’re welcome to come by whenever. If I’m not home, I’m running errands, which usually don’t take long.” She leaned toward him. “I don’t have a lot of patience for shopping.”

  “Bummer. I love the stuff,” he teased.

  She threw her hands in the air. “Good to know. Then you are the designated shopper in this couple.”

  “I like the sound of that.” Strangely, Leaper did. He was part of a couple. There were still a lot of unknowns that cluttered his emotions with doubt, but Kerry’s being open, their being a couple…he enjoyed those facts tremendously.

  * * *

  At the Advance Training Center, or ATC, down the Silver Strand from the Amphibious Base, Leaper and the other instructors were working on several scenarios for the live-fire exercise. Leaper had been leaning against the wall of the bunker for twenty minutes while the other instructors tossed around suggestions. Finally, his legs began to protest—he needed to move or sit down and take the weight off—so he spoke up. “If I’m understanding the point of this exercise, the recruits will experience live fire for the first time, and we are gauging their reactions. That’s it. They don’t need to move from point A to point B or perform any show-pony tricks.”

  All eyes turned to him.

  “What? I’m just summarizing.” Leaper shrugged his shoulders. “I read the announcement about the live-fire exercise on the Advanced Training Center base being conducted between 0900 and 1000, as well as boat maneuvers pending in late afternoon. Hard to believe they actually provide a URL for complaining. I wonder if it encourages or discourages feedback.”

  “Lefton’s got a point. Not about the complaints, but about the action.” It was Zebbison “Zebbi” Davids, an instructor on loan from the British Forces. “The laddies need to do something. We have our guys play a mock capture-the-flag game for their first live-fire action.” Zebbi was a stocky man with a tense tone, a wonderful sense of humor, and even better taste in whiskey. Not that Leaper was drinking these days, but once upon a time, he’d joined Zebbi’s crew for a few nights out.

  “I’m with Zebbi,” Leaper agreed. “If the men have something to do—moving from this room to that room and carrying their packs with them, or tending to a mock-wounded man—it will force them to engage a different part of the brain. Task action versus fear reaction.” Leaper smiled at Zebbi, who nodded his head. “At least they’d get something out of it, rather than just being scared shitless.”

  The rest of the instructors considered those thoughts for a few more minutes.

  Leaper pointed at his watch. “Time is running out. We have less than twenty minutes to prep now. Decide. I’ll be standing next to the ice plant.” He walked out of the old, shot-up bunker and stood near the large outcrop of ice plant.

  A few minutes later a hand slapped his back. “We won, mate.” Zebbi’s lips clenched a half-chewed cigar. It was unlit, and Leaper knew how much the man wanted to light it, but there was a regulation about that on this new base too. Leaper sighed. When did the world develop so many rules? Would they be telling him how to use his cock next? In his mind, that was a lady’s choice—the right lady, of course.

  Brrrupt!

  “They decided. Let’s fetch the lads.” Zebbi said loudly over the sound of gunfire as he led the way around the hill toward the waiting recruits. The men looked nervous. Leaper didn’t blame them in the least. There was no doubt in his mind that this would be a crazy time.

  * * *

  A signal alarm sounded, announcing to the residential area beyond that this was a live-fire exercise. The chaotic sounds of gunfire commenced.

 
Next to him, Zebbi made the sign of the cross.

  “Do an extra one for my guys, would you?” Leaper added.

  Zebbi did.

  Standing on top of the hill overlooking the bunkers, Leaper watched the recruits in Building A scatter to the corners like cockroaches when the lights are turned on. In this case, though, there were bullets piercing the walls, and the trainees had to carry out several tasks before making their way to Building C. The test would not be over until all the trainees had gathered together. If anyone got left behind, Leaper knew the instructors would keep going…at least until the ammunition was gone.

  Leaper located his men. This was good—they were sticking together, helping each other out. Several of the guys hyperventilated, and Watson was belly-crawling to another Team leader, trying to get him out. Without Parks, his group was at five members. It meant the usual two by two couldn’t happen. They would have to figure out a new buddy system. He hoped his trainees had hashed out that concept already.

  “Use your knife to open the box,” whispered Leaper under his breath—not that his guys would hear him from this distance. He was sort of praying for a Yoda-Skywalker moment.

  Watson smashed the box with his fist and removed a document from inside. He put it inside a watertight envelope and pushed it down his shirt. Then he crawled back to his crew.

  Captain Kirk was hyperventilating, and the rest of the group was calming him down. They were losing valuable time, but they were acting as a one unit, and that was reassuring.

  The other Teams were already working their way toward the door. Leaper’s group was the last in Building A.

  “They’ve got a lot of work to do. I’d be surprised if the last two hugging the wall don’t ring out by the end of day,” said Zebbi.

  “Room for improvement can be a good thing,” said Leaper as he walked with Zebbi along the ridge to watch the recruits in the next building. “I noticed that your trainees split off and lost their buddy and their group. I’ll take my guys over yours any day.”

  “We’ll see.” Zebbi’s jaw tensed, and he looked at Leaper for several seconds before he headed down the hill.

  Leaper paused. The vantage point was useful. It gave perspective…about his guys and where they were in the training process compared to the other groups. Oddly enough, it also provided a little insight on life. Beyond the buildings, the waves crashed on the shore. A few SEALs with the day off were surfing with kites, sliding up and over the waves. The current picked up as the waves drew the water ever closer to the shore. The ocean was alight with white peaks and sun-ray diamonds sparkling on the surface.

  Outlook. Positioning. Point of view. If only the recruits could see today as any other day, without the fear and panic. Then they’d have clarity of mind and perform better. Wasn’t that a hard truth about war—that somewhere in the world the sun was shining, people were laughing, and the world was continuing to spin on its axis, even if you were ass deep in blood, horror, and bullets? One man bleeds as another celebrates. Life was a double-edged sword, and what you saw and experienced depended on whether you were facing the razor edge of that blade.

  * * *

  After the live-fire scorching, everyone headed back the Amphibious Base. At BUD/S, Leaper stood outside the door with the other instructors. They were observing their trainees.

  Leaper scratched his neck as he leaned against the wall outside the classroom where the men sat. He could hear their comments, even in their hushed tones. He didn’t recognize the voices, but they were definitely worked up. It was enlightening to listen to them.

  “That was nothing like TV or the movies.”

  “Yeah, it wasn’t cool or exciting.”

  “It was disorienting. I was frozen. I couldn’t stop thinking about where the shots were coming from and how to deal with it.”

  “I kept thinking, ‘Fuck! I’m fucking this up!’ My dad did this, and he’d want me to handle it differently than I did, but all I’m doing is fucking panicking.”

  “It smelled hot. Does anyone else think that?”

  “I didn’t know it would be like that…the air full of plaster, dust, gunpowder, and just freaking intense.”

  “I’m embarrassed. I wouldn’t be surprised if they decided to roll the whole class back.”

  “Don’t fucking say that! You don’t want to give them any fucking suggestions. Got it!”

  Leaper knew someone had to get into that classroom and ease these trainees back into the game before they started fighting one another out of pure nervous exhaustion.

  Besides, if they completely lost faith in themselves, they’d have a hard time recovering for the next hurdle. He wanted them to stay or go on their own terms, not because the live-fire exercise went sideways from both the instructor’s and trainee’s points of view.

  “Let’s get going. Who’s first up?” Leaper wanted to suggest they have a quick game of rock, paper, scissors—or, in SEAL terms, Ka-Bar, fin, mask—but this was an extremely grim lot. “So, they fucked up,” said Leaper softly, turning toward the other instructors next to him and breaking into the discussion. “What happened the first time you dealt with scorched earth?”

  One of the instructors gave him a half smile, and the others frowned.

  “I get it. My trainees panicked. Maybe they were worked up, or maybe they were not. This is all new. That’s why we practice, practice, practice. I’ll work with them, and they’ll either get it or ring out. That’s why I’m here as an instructor. In the meantime, none of your trainees were stellar either. In my opinion, we need to give them the mental and physical tools to work through the situation, rather than just dump them in and see how they do.” Leaper was frustrated with this group of instructors. It was the first time he’d been at BUD/S where he felt like most of the instructors were unprepared and unwilling to push themselves as hard as they were pushing the trainees.

  In Leaper’s mind, everyone at BUD/S should give 200 percent or not bother showing up. If some of these instructors didn’t improve, hell, he’d talk to the Commanding Officer of BUD/S about it. Having his swim buddy as CO gave him an in. Besides, everyone should be open to feedback; it fostered improvement. Wasn’t that one of the powerful messages the Teams taught? The Team mandate was that all voices be heard, from enlisted to officer. All input is useful, and contingency plans are a must.

  The other instructors gave a series of shrugs and nods.

  Crap! Way to show enthusiasm.

  Fine, thought Leaper. If these instructors are so constipated that they can’t get over a few rough patches, they’re never going to survive getting these recruits to the next phase.

  “Okay, I’ll take one for the Teams. I’ll go in and talk first. Give me an hour, and then one of you can cycle in.” Leaper didn’t wait to see if they agreed. He put on his best tough-guy face and walked into the classroom.

  The tension was so thick you could sail a kite, and Leaper wrinkled his nose as he caught a whiff of urine. Poor souls. I’ve been there.

  Leaper was tall and he had no trouble reaching the latches for the small, high windows. When they were open, he walked slowly through the aisles between the desks, making his way to the front of the room. “You fucked up. All of you hit the skids and did a crap job. That happens! The first time I heard an authentic ‘in combat’ machine gun ripping into a wall inches from my head while I was on a mission, I shit my pants. I admit it. I didn’t trust my training at the time, and though I had made it through the entire BUD/S process, graduated, and gone off to save some soul in the middle of nowhere, I should have kept my mind on the task and not worried about the fucking noise. Because that’s what fear is. It’s noise—shit talk—that’s rattling around in your head and distracting you.”

  Leaper looked at the trainees. “So when I finally got my head back on straight and focused on the mission, I learned two things in that moment: First, that MRE beef stew
doesn’t agree with my digestive tract, and I shouldn’t wolf down a ton of heavy food before I need to be in action, because having the runs and puking is inconvenient during a rescue. On a personal note, I eat high-calorie bars to make it easier on me. Second, and this is the important lesson, awareness is the key to success.

  “If you are afraid, emotion is blinding you. It is all you can taste, swallow, and piss. But if you are calm on the inside, then the world is alive with an incredible amount of information.” Leaper held out his hands. “Everyone take a deep breath. Hold it for a count of four. Exhale for a count of four. Inhale for a count of four. Let’s do this four times.” Leaper waited while the trainees followed his instructions, and the atmosphere of tension changed to one of incredible calm.

  “My favorite instructor, Gich, used to call those alligator breaths. He talked about the need to operate in any kind of circumstance: rain, mud, lightning, bullets, mortar fire, torture, you name it. Being calm is your optimal choice. Make your brain your friend. The body will follow the mind and the mind will follow the body. Flow with it. And, if you think you can be become desensitized to everything, hell, that’ll take your whole life and it’s unrealistic. Instead, consider the idea that everything coming your way is a challenge to handle—nothing more or less. Live in that moment. Get to the next one, and then the next one, and deal only with what’s happening in your present. Stay in the now. Deal with what’s happening and then let it go and move on. Fear is a choice like any other emotion, but logic and awareness are some of the most useful tools of success.”

  “For my next trick, I can teach you how to change fear into fuel.” Leaper heard a murmur of voices from the recruits. He caught a few words and phrases, including Rambo and looking like a coward.

  Crap! These guys aren’t worried about the sound of live fire; they’re worried about their egos. Now that’s a shame! Here I am giving them pearls on how I handled my first real-time event, telling them how they can move through the trauma and stay aware and alive, and they don’t give a crap. Well, fuck! Do I have to remind them to be Clark Kent and not Superman? His anger pricked him, but Leaper ignored it.