A SEAL at Heart (11 page)

Gerry nodded. “Details… Shit! I remember their bullets hit metal. They connected with the helicopter. Luckily, they didn’t strike anything vital.”

Jack lifted his hands in frustration and then smacked them on the water. None of this was striking any familiar chords.

Gerry just kept on chatting, though. “Given the dust I had difficultly pinpointing where they were firing from. I just needed a few clear shots and those suckers would have been gone.”

Knowing Jack was going to have to dig through his own knowledge to get Knotts talking again wasn’t very comfortable. Staring into the water, Jack gave it his best and continued. “Gerry, I remember seeing blood on my hands. Don’s blood. I wrapped a pressure bandage around him and held him tight, trying to keep him alive, and then I got him on board and rigged a weight to keep it all in place. I got out, but I knew in my heart he was…” He rubbed his hands over his face. “Christ! Then there was an explosion and I was on my tail, seeing stars.

“When I rallied, I cleared the kick-up and saw you guys exiting the factory, which was on fire. Fuck, Gerry, there are too many blanks.” Jack scratched his head gently. “Wait, what about before the helicopter—at the beginning of the Op?”

“What about it?” Gerry lifted on a wave.

Jack pushed. “Come on, that can’t be all the information you have.”

“Jack, I don’t know, man. I don’t want to be your memory on this. It’s too important. If I tell you what I know, it might change something for you. The planning I’m sure you remember. In the helicopter, Don and you were bitching at each other like two cocks of the walk. You kept saying something ‘felt off’ and he was ragging your ass to shut up.”

Splashing water on his head, Gerry shook the extra drops off like a dog. His bald spot looked like a bowl of strawberries. “Man, you were right. There was something screwy about the setup. What do you remember?”

“More than I did. I remember the ship with the hot crew women and then the helicopter. Fast-roping into a clear zone between the trees. The snakes, and there was cloud cover moving in, but the ceiling was high, so flying was no problem. It was a long hike, quiet in the beginning—eerily so, and then it started raining like Noah and the flood.” Abruptly, Jack coughed. “The terrain was tricky on the way down to the factory. We spotted a couple of IEDs. We cleared them without problem.”

Jack cleared his throat. “When feet hit the ground near the factory, lightning lit up the sky like a motherfucker! Everything looked empty and neglected, like the compound was possibly ditched in a hurry, with open car doors, broken windows, and half-filled bottles dropped randomly. And then, when we finally reached the factory door, the thunder was booming, the rain was soaking us, and gooseflesh was climbing my back and neck like a baby Komodo dragon seeking its mommy. Everyone was way ahead. Don and I were holding the rear when Seeley and Pickens called us in. I entered the building last. That’s all I’ve got! I’m missing a gap of time between entering the building and the helicopter.” Jack wiped his finger over his face, sluicing off excess water. “You were point man, what did you see?”

Gerry looked away, deep in thought for a few minutes or maybe considering what he was willing to share. Jack wanted every fucking kernel of detail. Sighing, Gerry said, “The details are sort of fuzzy. Your version jives with mine, so that’s good. The rooms had full-grown dust bunnies living in those corners at the far end of the factory. No one had been there in months.

“According to the Intel, the layout of the building was right, but I agree, this Op went sideways fast. We stuck to the plan and made our way to the cellar. I remember seeing stacks of crates and boxes along the wall. We followed the path all the way through and there was nothing. We were called to the front of the building. The explosion happened right after I stepped outside. I smelled smoke and then fresh air, and then you were helping me onto the helicopter.” Gerry shook his head. “Thing is, I don’t really know the exact events either. Obviously, some kind of explosion blew the factory—with serious accelerants—because that place was spitting colors as it burned. I remember that.”

“I’ve got too many fucking blank spaces… Why can’t I remember any of this crap?” Jack swished a mouthful of salt water, relishing the familiar salty taste, and then spit it out. He needed answers and Laurie, bless her sweet heart, had helped him fill in some of the holes, but a significant amount of the picture was still missing. Too much. Maybe she could help him do more to bridge the gap.

Frustration laced through Jack. Meeting Knotts had not been very useful. “I need to know the truth. Where was the goat fuck in this chain of events?”

“I don’t know,” said Gerry, looking at the waves. “Listen, I’m going in. I have to go be Dad for a while.” He splashed water in Jack’s direction. “Hey, don’t give me that look. I’m looking forward to it. I miss them! Seems like they grow an inch every time I leave. Someday you’ll get it.”

“Wait, Gerry, what about Seeley and Pickens? What did they say?” Jack asked as his friend started to swim away. Neither of those guys had returned his texts. At least Gerry had the balls to say shit to his face—whatever it would be. To him, that was a friend who went to the mat.

Gerry shook his head. “I talked to them at the hospital, and they went to Virginia after me. Jack…” He looked away, pausing for several heartbeats, before staring Jack again in the eye. “They said there were guns and drugs there. That you triggered something and that it set a bomb off.”

Jack felt the blood rush his head like a giant explosion of noise. “What?”

“Man, I hate to even say this to you, ’cause their stories vary from what I know.”

“I’m responsible?” None of this rang a bell! Frustration and disbelief flooded him. Had he really been the one who endangered the Team and killed his best friend? “Shit! I can’t believe it. Why the fuck don’t they say that crap to my face? Call me. Talk it through.”

“Here’s the thing, Jack. My gut’s shouting that this is not the whole picture. Those guys act like short-timers, just want to do their stint and get out. I’m not disrespecting them. It’s only that our explanations aren’t in sync.” Gerry’s face was tight with anger and frustration. “Give it time. The details will surface.”

“Great,” said Jack, disheartened. God help him if it were true, and he’d fucked up!

Knotts swam over and put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I believe in you, man. Whatever was going on, I know you saved me and the rest of the Team. I know it’s what we do—just know that I’m grateful. Jack, you saved us all that day, and Don would see it that way, too. His body came home.”

Knotts looked at his watch. “Oh fuck! I’ve gotta go! I’ve got to pick up the kids soon. Daddy duty is serious stuff. You’re gonna be okay, right, Jack?”

Jack nodded. He wasn’t, though. “Catch you later, Gerry.”

Every sense shouted it was highly unlikely he would be okay ever again. His worst fear was coming true. He was responsible for the death of his swim buddy, and a portion of the team agreed.

“Yep! Just don’t let anyone know we talked. I don’t want to leave you hanging, but I don’t want to get hung out to dry either.” Gerry nodded and then swam toward shore. They’d been trained to use either the sidestroke or breaststroke as the preferred movement through the water. Conserving strength and being stealthy was important. Gerry used both to get him back. The man did look seriously tired and there were some new scars on his body. Nothing major, but definitely not pretty.

Jack stayed locked on Gerry’s form until his friend was safely on the beach, then he turned away from shore and swam toward the center of the Pacific. The urge to be as far away from the base as possible was pushing him. He moved from the breaststroke to the crawl, punching as much energy into the motions as he could. But the tide was coming in, and all it did was give him a losing battle to fight.

His arms ached and his belly groused. The loop of criticism in his head was like an overplayed song that he didn’t want to hum anymore. All he wanted was to stop… to find some kind of solace or peace.

Cumulonimbus clouds moved in overhead, threatening to storm. The winds picked up, throwing choppy waves up to splash his face, and a few raindrops began to pepper the surface. After the dream he’d had on the couch, the sign of the gathering storm actually ran a chill up his spine.

In the distance, he could see fins and birds. Had to be dolphins feeding. Though usually, where they were, so were sharks. Perhaps facing toothy predators would solve part of his problem, especially if he died right here. It would be messy, but with the headspace he was in right now, what would he even care?

Death. The idea played in his mind. What would it be like to die? SEALs were always prepared to live or die in action, but to consciously choose death? That was a forbidden corner of his psyche he’d never chosen to visit before.

Jack’s emotional energy was waning. The iron will he’d used to avoid so many dastardly situations was flagging—wavering to the point of being almost on empty. If he had been responsible for his buddy’s death, how could he survive it?

“I need answers, dammit!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.

Nothing.

Rage, frustration… and fear… built inside of him until he thought it would explode like a bomb in his brain. He needed to stop. So he cut off the emotion. He took a deep breath, stopped swimming, and just floated on his back. His ears filled with water and there was silence. Finally.

What
it
would
be
like
if
I
just
let
go?

He visualized it until he felt his eyes close. His body bounced aimlessly on the surface of the sea.

With an act of conscious determination, he folded himself into a ball and dove to the shelf. Making his hands into scoops, he dug through the current until he reached the bottom. Then he picked up the heaviest rock he could find and held it.

Sitting on the bottom of the ocean with the rock in his lap, he made himself become part of the sandy floor. He knew his limit for holding his breath, but he wasn’t ready to give up his burden.

Experiences—those vivid and intense memories that made him who he was today—flashed through his brain. Training before Hell Week, running with his buddies, holding rocks like the one in his lap to learn how to control his heart rate and breathing.

Other images—relationship ones—popped into his mind, too. Laurie. Sheila and Kona. Gich. His Teammates. His dearly departed grandfather.

Then there were things he still wanted to do: fly a glider; make love to Laurie on a deserted beach in Hawaii; mountain bike, like everywhere—he had only been to a handful of places in California. Have kids.

Shit! I don’t want that! What the hell am I doing?

Get
your
shit
together, Roaker!
There was a lot to do, and he couldn’t achieve any of it if he were dead. His lungs ached, burning with a need for air. He struggled with the rock, feeling the burning sensation in his chest growing.

Who
will
clear
my
reputation, or at the very least figure out this whole damned issue, if I don’t find out the truth?
Didn’t he want to know what really happened to him, Don, and the rest of his Teammates? He couldn’t die with so much still unknown. Giving up wasn’t who he was! This route—ending this way—wasn’t the right decision. Not for him. He liked choices. There were always many of them, and right now he had to get going.
Fuck
this
shit!

Jack released the rock and kicked off, pushing up and up. The air bubbles left his mouth in short bursts. Arms dug through the water, legs kicked, driving him toward the surface. He popped through, back to the world of the living.

Eagerly, he sucked air between the falling raindrops until a sharp pain spiked at the back of his neck. He grimaced, growled, and began swimming toward the shore. The current had swept him farther out than he wanted to be and it would be a long haul to get back to the Amphibious Base.

“Good decision! What if Kona had found you? She might never have recovered from the shock.” Don’s voice came from behind him.

Jack spun around and was face-to-face with his dead swim buddy. “Shit! This is worse than the hallucination in the sub.”

“No shit, Sherlock!” laughed Don.

That mission had taken them on a series of subs. The no-sleep factor and rather stubborn bout of flu and fever had really played with Jack’s mind during that one, but he’d kept it together—mostly. The Team watched out for each other. They had snatched catnaps now and then, but it had still been taxing. “As for your daughter finding my chewed-upon corpse, she’d probably dissect it. Didn’t she take apart that octopus on the beach last year? She was so excited! I’d be just another curiosity.”

“Possibly! She’s a strange one, but she’ll be strong like her papa.” Don grinned at him and channeled the conversation back to the glory days on the sub. “Hey, I know that look! You’re thinking about those mermaids from that Op. You kept talking about them and how you wanted to open the hatch and go swim with them. Damn, you were hilarious!”

“No, you wanted to go with the mermaids. I was fantasizing about a king-size bed at the Del with room service—steak, potato, and fresh asparagus, with apple pie for dessert. Probably because I couldn’t keep anything down and I was starved. Fuck! A steak really sounds good right now.” Jack licked his lips. Hunger bit into his “need” scale and it was hitting a ten-plus. The last time he’d eaten was yesterday. “Hey, are there any boats out here that want to give me a ride back?”

“You look like hell, Jack. You need to take better care of yourself.” Don swam closer.

Jack held his spot. “What happened, Don? Did I kill you?”

“No, man. What the hell makes you think that?” The anger on his friend’s face at the comment was real. “You’re my best friend. What the fuck?”