"Angie, this is Grant."
"I know." Silence again, until she finally responded, "You've talked with Luke, haven't you?"
*
At 0030 Luke Mitchell was still wide awake. For over two hours he'd tossed and turned in his bunk. Finally, he flung the sheet aside, got up, then briefly stood by his bunk. Nineteen other men in this Quonset hut were totally sacked out. Everyone was anticipating a grueling day ahead of them. This facility, hidden deep in the Virginia countryside, was so quiet he could hear their breathing.
He put on his blue, Navy sweats, lifted his Converse sneakers from under the bunk, then walked across the cool concrete in his bare feet. Quietly, he opened the door, looked around the room, then stepped outside, closing the door behind him. Leaning against the metal siding of the hut, he put on his sneakers, and without even tying them, he started walking to nowhere in particular, just . . . walking.
A 38 degree temperature was hardly noticed by him as he walked along the path, with his hands shoved into his pockets. He was totally absorbed in thoughts almost too hard to believe, but had nothing to do with his upcoming training.
After his conversation with Grant, he came away encouraged that he'd be accepted as a team member one day. But that wasn't the issue dwelling on his mind. What he remembered was Grant asking about his mom, specifically her hometown. And then there was his reaction to her maiden name. That caught Luke's attention. Why? Why such a reaction?
She never talked about his real dad, never mentioned his name, but only said he left California before he was born. There never seemed to be any animosity, just a matter-of-fact attitude.
As Luke grew up, his step-dad fulfilled all he could have wanted in a dad. He was strict but fair, and always encouraging. But the day they learned that he'd enlisted, was the day that everything changed, especially in his mom. No matter how hard he tried, he was unable to make her realize how deep his feelings were to serve in the Navy. The day he left home, nothing had changed, not even his guilt.
A sound of a distant train whistle returned his thoughts to the present. In a few more hours he'd be back on this path where he'd begin his training.
He walked toward a stand of trees and leaned a shoulder against a tall oak, staring in the direction of the house where he met Grant. Was it fate that brought him to Virginia, and to Eagle 8? Was his decision to follow a lifelong path in the Navy meant to be? Was all this in his DNA?!
A sudden shiver ran through his body. Keeping his back against the tree, he slowly sank into a squat. Propping his elbows on his knees, he held his head in his hands. Was it possible?! "No! The whole idea is hairbrained, Mitchell!" Or was it?
He couldn't call his mom. He wouldn't call her. But with the feeling so strong inside him, there was no way in hell he'd leave Virginia without knowing either way. Somehow he'd get his answer -- no matter what that answer was. Could Captain Grant Stevens be his father?!
With his mind spinning, he slowly stood, then began walking back to the hut. In a few more hours it'd be 0500. Reveille. Getting any sleep between now and then just wasn't going to happen.
Chapter 31
The early morning temperature at Eagle 8 was a very cool 36 degrees, but little wind. For most of the trainees this day would be a true "wake up call" for what was ahead. As they would learn, weather would not disrupt their training.
Their first physical test was a 5K run. That was the easy part, and only the beginning. They'd been given handouts listing a schedule of activities and required times for completion. Whether their application had ended up in either "A" or "B" folder, they were all given a copy of the Navy SEAL Creed.
The men of Alpha Tango filed quietly out of the house, with clipboards and pens in hand, dressed in black pants, black pullover sweaters, and combat boots. Their black baseball caps had a SEAL Trident on the crown, sewn with gold thread.
Slade and James carried an oval metal bucket filled with bottled water. They loaded it in the rear of one of the SUVs.
"Time to see what these kids are made of," Slade said. He slapped the newest Team member on the back. "You haven't been on any missions with us yet, but this might prove to be just as action-packed!"
Vince Milone readjusted his cap, screwing it down tighter over his dark brown hair, cut "high and tight." "Can't tell you how much I've been looking forward to it, Ken!" Milone's tour of duty ended at Little Creek. He'd been one of the ten men originally selected for possible inclusion in A.T. When he received the call from Grant back in October, he jumped at the opportunity to join the Team.
Grant and Adler were the last to walk out. Adler tugged on Grant's arm, pulling him back near the front door. "I guess you didn't get much sleep last night."
"Not much. I even took a walk around the house, trying to clear my brain, trying to decide what the hell to do."
"You mean whether to talk to Luke?"
"Yeah."
"Well, you said Angie didn't seem to mind if you did."
"It'd take the responsibility off her shoulders, wouldn't it?" Grant answered with unmistakable sarcasm. "After a freakin' 22 years, she never even said a word to that kid."
"Or you," Adler added, to which Grant didn't respond. "Was she gonna talk with her husband, I mean, about your phone call?"
"She said she would, but I told her I wouldn't cause any problems. Why would I?"
"Let me ask you something. If she told you she was pregnant, what would you have done?"
Grant poked a finger against Adler's chest. "The point was, Joe, that she didn't give me a damn chance to decide. She made the decision. It's a moot issue anyhow."
"Either way, Skipper, you've gotta tell him." Grant walked down the steps without replying.
*
Ten minutes later two black Chevy Suburbans pulled in front of the Quonset huts. The 40 trainees, who were lined up in front of the huts, snapped to attention immediately when they saw the vehicles.
The men of A.T. got out then gathered behind the second vehicle. They tried to avoid paying too much attention to the young men, who were between 21 and 26 years of age, with a few closer to 30. They wore sweatsuits, black, blue or gray, and as instructed, they all had black combat boots.
"That's a good sign, boss," Novak smiled. "They're all ready for 'bear'!"
"I think we've got a good bunch of men, Mike. You all did a great job making the selections. But now we've got our work cut out for us. They're expecting us to train them to the best of our ability, to bring out their best. Are you all ready?"
The men of Team Alpha Tango responded, with their voices rising loudly and in unison: "Hooyah!"
Hearing the former Navy SEALs, the trainees felt a sudden rush of excitement, ready to meet the challenge head-on.
Team A.T. lined up, standing at parade rest in front of, but several feet away from the trainees. Grant stepped forward, letting his eyes roam across the rows of young men.
"Morning, gentlemen." A few scattered murmurs of "morning" were heard, as puffs of exhaled breath dissipated quickly in the cold air. Grant tilted his head, then said with his voice raised, "I didn't hear you!"
"Morning, sir!"
"Morning. At ease." He waited for a moment, then said, "We'd like to officially welcome you to the Eagle 8 Training Facility.
"You met most of us when you arrived, but we'll go through it again. I'm Captain Stevens, and these are your instructors." One by one, A.T. called out ranks and names.
Grant continued, "Let me go over a few things. As you were previously told, this training hasn't been endorsed by the SEALs in any way. However, we did discuss with both Little Creek and Coronado what our objectives were and how we planned on going about achieving them.
"Now, we realize you're definitely here for the physical aspect of the training, but we also want to build your confidence, and hopefully instill in you some valuable lessons to take with you throughout your lives. As you expect a certain level of excellence from us, we expect an even higher one from you.
; "Next. I probably don't need to remind you, but you will always address us by using our rank, followed by our name, and/or 'sir.' On the other side of that, your rank matters little to us. To put it simply, you're all 'squids.' We will address you by whatever we feel is appropriate at the time.
"Reveille is 0500, every morning, no matter what the weather. But keep in mind, that time can be adjusted at our discretion, without notice." A few groans. "You have a problem with that?!"
A collective, "No, sir!" resounded among the ranks.
"That's what I thought. Moving forward, lights out by 2200, unless, of course, we have other activities planned.
"As far as meals, you'll have three squares a day. Those times were listed in your handouts. Don't worry -- we have no intention of preparing those meals." Indicating with a thumb over his shoulder, Grant smiled, "Although, Lieutenant Adler here is pretty famous for . . . well, actually, he's famous mostly for his appetite more than food prep skills!" Team A.T. smiled and nodded in agreement.
"I hope you also noticed in the handouts that there were a couple of verses titled: We Are the Sons of UDT and SEAL Team Navy. Those are cadence songs the SEALs use on their runs. Memorize them."
His eyes swept across the rows of young men, eager to begin. "You've all been to boot camp. Whatever you experienced there, this training will go beyond that. While this training could never compare to BUD/S, we still want it to be more than just that physical experience. But like BUD/S, it'll take more than determination and willpower. Your physical and emotional strength will be tested, and tested everyday. Expect it. A helluva lot will be squeezed into the short amount of time you're here.
"I know there are a few of you who will be trying out for the SEALs. While you're here, we're hoping to help you reach that goal. We want to prepare you for the reality of what it takes, preparing your body and mind." He paused, making eye contact with several men. "Whatever personal reason brought you here -- whether just for the physical training, or just confidence-building -- we want to help all of you.
"Most of you have probably heard the SEAL quote: 'The only easy day was yesterday.'" Heads bobbed up and down. "When you're in BUD/S, especially Hell Week, you'll probably think there's no such thing as an easy day, 'cause everyday will feel like hell. Just ask these guys," he said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder.
"We all experienced Hell Week, and our instructors instilled in us the Team mentality. At the end of our training was the prize, the 'Holy Grail' of BUD/S, the ability to understand the word 'Team.' I can't emphasize that enough." With each word he smacked a fist into his palm: "Team. Teamwork. We expect you to learn that right off, because no matter what career path you intend to follow -- Navy or civilian -- those two words should always apply." He went silent momentarily, letting those words sink in.
"If physical activity hasn't been a priority in your life, then hell might sound like a better place to be then here," he added with a slight grin, and hearing a smattering of laughter. "Listen, your success hinges on how much you're willing to push yourself -- and beyond what you imagined. Just by your being here proves you have some level of confidence. But here's another word to consider. Motivation. How much do you have? Are you willing to motivate your buddies even though you're dogged tired, ready to puke your guts out, and worn down to parade rest? Well, you'd better be. Remember -- you're a team.
Again Grant paused, then continued. "We've requested that some of you return after your enlistments end. You've already had experience in SCUBA and have made jumps. But I can guarantee that if you decide to return, the difficulty of your training will increase twofold, because Eagle 8 isn't our only training ground. We'll take you where the temperature exceeds 120°, and another where it can plunge below -40°. All I'll say to you is be prepared to meet the new challenges.
"Okay. Change of pace." Grant motioned toward Stalley. "Doc Stalley is our corpsman. He'll handle all minor physical problems." Grant pointed his index finger toward the trainees. "Let me say this, if you sustain an injury -- and I'm talking more than a blister or cut -- don't try to work through it. And don't try to conceal it. Your body is your responsibility. You see Doc asap. Do I make myself clear?!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Also, keep in mind that any of us will be available if you need to talk—for whatever reason. Your mental state will have an immense outcome on how well you do. Discussions will be kept confidential.
"Okay, that's about it. Any questions?"
A tall young man in the back row slowly raised his hand, and Grant pointed to him, asking, "And you are?"
"Uh, Petty Officer . . . I mean, Casey Jeffries, Captain Stevens, sir," he answered with a hint of southern accent. Grant nodded. "Sir, will y'all be joining us on our runs and swims?"
Grant's brow furrowed. "Are you implying we look as though we need the exercise, Mr. Jeffries?!"
"Oh, no, sir! Absolutely not . . . sir!"
Without immediately answering, Grant turned and took a couple of steps, paused by Adler, and gave him a quick wink. "To answer Mr. Jeffries' question," Grant finally said, facing the trainees, "one of us will be with each squad during runs, until the time comes when you elect a team leader. As far as swimming, we'll always be standing by or in the water. It depends on what activity is planned. Anyone else?"
Luke's hand went up. Grant nodded in his direction. "Captain Stevens, what happens if you and your Team are called out on a mission? I mean, what happens to our training, sir?" Heads turned in his direction.
Oh, shit, Luke! Grant locked his eyes with Mitchell's. Other sailors standing before him now may have heard scuttlebutt about the Team. So be it, he thought, before responding, "I see some of you are surprised at the question. Although we're not on active duty, you should know that doesn't mean 'Uncle Sam' can't call us back. If that did happen your training would still continue. There are several former SEALs living in the area who have volunteered to take you through it." Not quite the whole truth, but it was the best Grant could do without revealing Team A.T.'s true role.
"Anything else?" Silence. "Okay. Before you begin your first test of the day, I'll leave you with a quote from Teddy Roosevelt." He emphasized the statement by beating his fist against the air. "'Believe you can, and you're halfway there.' Good luck, gentlemen. Dismissed."
The trainees broke ranks, talking among themselves, until Team A.T. approached them, going from man to man, shaking their hands.
Grant wandered over to Mitchell, who lowered his eyes briefly and said quietly, "I'm real sorry, sir. I wasn't thinking."
"Lesson learned, Luke. Always think." That was all he said, before meeting up with Adler.
An hour later the first five trainees began the 5K run. Garrett and Draper each had stop watches, ready to record times. They were mainly looking for stamina more than times, but everything would be recorded.
Grant stood off to the side, beyond the path, with his arms folded across his chest, waiting for the group to finish. Finally, he spotted the five, running at a good pace, and staying fairly close together. Voices could be heard, as each man encouraged the other. That's the way it was supposed to be, just like in BUD/S. Help your buddy. Teamwork. These kids already know what it's about, he thought, impressed.
The five stopped near Garrett and Draper briefly, as they caught their breath, and patted one another on the back.
Mitchell finally saw Grant, but Grant lowered his head, and started walking away, leaving him with the wrong impression.
"Hey, Mitchell!" Garrett called.
"Sir?!"
"Get your butt in gear!" Garrett said, pointing to the other four men jogging to their next test area.
"Yes, sir!" Mitchell gave a final, quick look over his shoulder, before breaking into a run.
*
2000 Hours
Team A.T. was sitting at the dining room table, with pens or pencils in hand. Each had copies of every trainee's activities and results of the day. They were prepared to discuss and evaluate the men, then re
view plans for the following day.
Grant glanced at his watch, just as there was a knock at the door. He pushed his chair back. "I'll get it." He looked at the Team. "Go ahead with your evals." With that, he grabbed his windbreaker, then went to the door, as his men watched him. Ever since the previous day, they'd noticed a change, nothing specific, but it wasn't anything new. Whenever they prepared for a mission, Grant would go into a different 'mode' -- and this training was a mission of sorts.
Once the door closed, the men turned to Adler. He realized they were hoping for an explanation. "He'll tell you when he's ready." Enough said. The discussions started.
As Grant opened the door, Luke backed up. Grant motioned, "Let's walk." He slung his windbreaker over his shoulder.
Security lights, placed around the 4,000 square foot house, were beginning to flicker on as evening approached. Unseen were security cameras, always recording, constantly displaying images on the monitor above the fireplace.
The two men walked slowly across the driveway, nearing A.T.'s vehicles. Grant draped his jacket over the Vette's roof, then leaned against the car.
Mitchell pointed to it. "Yours, sir?"
"It is."
"Very cool!" Mitchell shuffled a foot on the gravel, before saying quietly, "Sir, I wanted to talk with you to apologize again for this morning. I don't know why I . . ."
"Maybe it was just enthusiasm. Whatever the reason, it's something that's gonna stick with you. All part of the learning process. Remember -- think."
"Yes, sir. I've already filed it away," he indicated by pointing to his head.
"Is that all you wanted to talk about?"
"Permission to speak freely, sir?"
"Relax a little, okay?"
"Yes, sir. I was up practically all last night, thinking about my interview with you. There were certain things you asked me."
"And those things were?"
"Captain Stevens, can I ask you a personal question?"
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