True Devotion

  She read the San Diego paper from cover to cover as she ate breakfast, looking for any clue as to where Joe might have gone, what problem he might have been sent to solve. The full platoon had been deployed. Sixteen SEALs was a pretty heavy arsenal being brought to bear on a problem. There was nothing in the newspaper she found that helped her figure out what was going on.

  She could get the wallpapering done today. It would be a distraction and she needed that. Joe would’ve helped her with it when he got back, but she suddenly decided it would be better if she did it herself, showed she was capable of staying busy and productive while he was away. It wasn’t like she had pressing items on her schedule today; she could take her time. Kelly went to get the wallpaper and supplies feeling much more cheerful about the day.

  * * *

  Kelly studied the wallpaper pattern to figure out how to match one strip with the next. She had bought a complex design. This wasn’t going to be easy. She was glad now she had bought an extra roll. She set out the supplies, prepared the paste, and got to work.

  “Slide over, Misha.”

  The dog was curious about this project and was right under her heels. Misha moved aside and Kelly carried the first strip over and stepped up on the stool. Kelly sealed and smoothed the top half of the strip, then carefully slipped free the portion she had folded. She stepped off the stool and smoothed her rag over the full strip down to the floor.

  She worked steadily for three hours to complete the main wall. Doing the border above the soffits—maybe she had best wait for Joe. Working over her head would be difficult enough, and the strip had to be held out to the side when it was put up.

  The doorbell rang.

  Liz was early. She had said she would pick Kelly up at 4 p.m. or thereabouts. Kelly wiped at the paste drying on her hands as she walked through the house.

  “Charles, hi.” She was surprised to see him.

  She held open the door, but he declined with a smile. “Ryan wants to take Lynnette fishing, so we were just running over to pick her up. I’ve got the wilderness camp registration forms completed if you wouldn’t mind taking them with you to church tomorrow.”

  Kelly accepted the envelope with a nod. “I’d be glad to.”

  Misha tried to push past her and go outside, but Kelly blocked her path with a practiced foot. “Stay inside, Misha.”

  Charles looked down at the animal. “Joe’s dog?”

  Kelly was surprised by the question; Misha had been with them when they went sailing, and Charles had seen the dog before. “Yes. She’s managed to get wallpaper paste on her coat this time,” she remarked ruefully.

  Charles leaned down and held out his hand to greet the dog. “I mistakenly thought she was yours. Going to have her for a while?”

  “I’m babysitting for a few days.” His question made her uneasy but she wasn’t sure why.

  “Ryan wants a dog just like her.”

  Kelly relaxed at the easy comment. “She’s good company, a good breed for kids.”

  “I’ll remember that.” He nodded to the envelope. “Thanks for this, Kelly. Ryan is looking forward to going.”

  “I’m sure he’ll have a great time. Good luck fishing today.”

  Charles looked amused. “We’ll see if Ryan realizes that part of being a good date is baiting Lynnette’s hooks and cleaning her fish.”

  “He’s smitten. I think he’ll catch on.”

  She watched Charles leave, waved at Ryan in the car, then looked down at Misha. “Paint, now paste. Are you just attracted to stuff that is bad for you? This is going to be your second bath in a week.”

  * * *

  Laughter with friends—it was the best antidote for worry there could be. Kelly knew Bear had left for a live op, not a training mission. Christi knew the same about Boomer, but they both found a way to accept it and leave it aside for a few hours. Liz had brought the movies and she had chosen several that kept them in stitches.

  Liz’s son Christopher stirred, taking Kelly’s attention momentarily from the movie. The infant had been asleep in her lap for the last half hour. She watched his eyes to see if he was waking up or simply changing positions. Liz didn’t ask her to babysit nearly enough. Kelly didn’t mind the bottles and the diapers and the constant attention required to know how he was doing. She loved babies. Liked older kids too, especially teens like Ryan and Lynnette, but babies were special.

  Liz was a mom, Christi about to become one, and Kelly wanted to join the club. It wasn’t just that they were leaving her behind, sharing an experience she could only observe. It was the fact that being a mom had been her dream. To get married again, have a family, would restore what had been robbed from her three years ago. She stroked her hand over Christopher’s soft hair. Joe would make a wonderful dad.

  The movie credits began to scroll by.

  “Kelly, you never did tell us. How was the first week seeing Joe?” Liz asked.

  Kelly didn’t know what to tell her friends. She didn’t know how to put perspective on the week—too much had happened. She finally shrugged. “It was fine.”

  “Just fine? Come on, you can do better than that,” Christi teased. “Has he kissed you yet?”

  She blushed.

  “He has,” Liz exclaimed.

  Their happiness for her was real. “A couple times.”

  “You make our lives look boring. First there was Charles; then you and Joe startle us all by dating. I can’t wait for your encore,” Christi remarked.

  Kelly knew her friends were happy for her, and that helped cushion the fact she went home after the girls’ night lonely for Joe, wishing he was around instead of somewhere overseas.

  The house was quiet and Misha trailing her around didn’t begin to make up for the fact Joe was somewhere beyond the reach of a late-night phone call.

  She eventually curled up in bed thinking about him. On impulse she pulled open her nightstand drawer and got out her stationery.

  Joe, tonight finds you far away from me, and I am thinking about you.

  If you were here, I would tell you about my attempt at wallpapering the kitchen (it looks good if I do say so myself), about Misha getting her second bath in a week, and finally about my evening visiting with Liz and Christi, who, of course, asked about you.

  It is hard to convey in that small prism of events how life is so different now with you a part of it. When I was wallpapering, I was thinking about your home and mine and what our home might look like someday. And when I was talking with Liz and Christi, I was thinking it would be nice if we could make friends with a new couple at church who would know us as a couple, not as individuals—I want us to have common friends.

  I wish we could walk the beach together tonight.

  Kelly sighed and stopped writing, finally putting away the letter, knowing already she would not give it to him. It was unfair of her to bring those kinds of topics up when they had just begun to date.

  I love you, Joe. That’s what I want to tell you tonight. And it’s the one thing I have to wait to say.

  * * *

  2230 hours. The platoon moved into the surf zone of Maytiko Island and crept from the water like crabs under the watchful eyes of the two men who had gone ashore thirty minutes before. The platoon regrouped at the base of the cliff.

  It was going to be a hard climb.

  Joe scanned the sheer cliff with his night vision goggles. The wind and salt water of the sea had pounded this cliff for decades. Anything loose had been swept away long ago. They would have to take it in stages, using multiple anchor points and setting men at each stage to lift the heavy equipment up the cliff’s face. Joe nodded. They had made harder climbs.

  From the equipment brought ashore came the long black ropes. The swim gear was hidden. Weapons slung over their backs, equipment vests snugged tight, the first men began to climb.

  Rock climbing was a matter of patience, balance, and focus. It was an indication of how ready his men were that the first stage of the mission wa
s accomplished with barely more than a dozen words over the mikes as information passed between them during the climb. The first men to the top fanned out to secure a perimeter in the tropical foliage, the equipment and explosives were brought to the top, and then the rest of the men finished the climb.

  Joe knelt at the top of the cliff and made a careful sweep of the area to ensure they had left nothing to mark their arrival. Good. The most vulnerable part of the mission was past. He moved into the tropical cover.

  “Nothing disturbing the wildlife,” Cougar whispered over the mike.

  Bear nodded. Nothing disturbing the wildlife meant there was no one in the area making noise—either no one was there, they were asleep, or they were quietly watching. It was the last option Bear worried about—the SEALs hadn’t disturbed the wildlife either.

  “Lead us through slow and steady.” He glanced down the platoon of men. “Remember—no one shoot the wildlife. A pair of glowing eyes is not necessarily a threat.” He received back a series of clicks through his earpiece as men signaled their acknowledgment. Joe thought a few of the clicks sounded like men silently chuckling. The night vision goggles gave an unfair advantage in a fight at night, sometimes too much of one. Two years ago, another platoon had had a mission come apart because someone reacted too quickly to the wildlife creeping in to check out who was walking silently by.

  They had the benefit of a nearly moonless night and cloud cover. From this point, they had to cover just under half a mile through the tropical forest to reach the choke point in the path from the harbor to the airstrip.

  The platoon moved out in single file through the heavy foliage, moving downhill as they went. Joe had to listen hard to hear even the movement of the man behind him. The cliffs had been the right entry point; no one on the island would expect the threat to come from above. For the first time since they had entered the water, Joe felt himself relax. They were on the island. They wouldn’t be leaving until the mission was done.

  If it went perfectly, they would have Raider. Joe’s three-year prayer for justice would finally be answered.

  * * *

  “Cougar, any change?” Bear whispered.

  Bear had sent Cougar and a sniper to watch the beach. “Still five men walking around on the boat, three inside the boathouse, and six on the beach. They still haven’t opened any of the four hold covers, and the men are settling in for the night. A couple of them on the beach have stretched out on blankets. No one appears to be in a hurry to do anything. And the only men present have come from off the boat.”

  Why had no one come down to meet the boat when it arrived? Where were the men who were expected to already be on the island? Why weren’t they moving the device toward the runway for the pickup at dawn?

  The questions with no answers were frustrating. This mission wasn’t happening as planned. The platoon was settled into position ready to hit the shipment in transit, but the other side wasn’t cooperating. “Apparently they aren’t going to move the device off the boat until the plane arrives, and we are out of time. We’re going to plan Bravo—we’re hitting the boat.”

  The men appeared from the earth and the tree line, movement revealing their shapes and breaking their camouflaged cover. It was a silent transition.

  “Stay ready,” Bear cautioned. “I’m not entirely convinced the only men we’ll have to deal with came in on that boat.”

  They set off for the harbor moving silently.

  Fourteen men on the boat, maybe as many as twenty, as some may not have come up to the deck. Where were the other men who should be on this island? Someone had cleared up that runway recently. They could not have all left. There should’ve been at least someone left with a radio to wave off the boat should anything unforeseen happen. Someone should have come down to meet the boat when it arrived.

  They joined Cougar. The boat, the pier, the boathouse, the men on the beach—all were less than four hundred yards away around the rocks. Joe moved onto the boulders and inched his way forward on his belly to join the sniper and see the situation for himself. The mock-up of the boat had been much better than expected. He scanned for any changes that would have to be made to the assault plan and found only minor ones. For minutes he studied the men. No sentries? Considering what they were smuggling, it was hard to believe they didn’t take a precaution of having one man looking for trouble, even if they didn’t expect any.

  They think they are the only people on the island.

  They’ve been at sea at least the last fourteen hours.

  It’s the middle of the night.

  They want to wait until the plane arrives to move the device.

  Joe still found it troubling. What was he missing? He scanned the tree line at the back of the beach. “All the men down there came off the boat?” he asked Cougar again.

  “Yes.”

  Joe eventually nodded, then moved back to the men.

  0422, Joe silently signaled, setting the time of the attack. They acknowledged and moved into the water.

  It was a slow, deep swim to get into position.

  At 0422, six of his men appeared silently from the water to surge up the sides of the boat, seven appeared on the dock. Joe was the second man to the dock, positioned at the corner of the boathouse for line of sight down the pier to the beach. He counted the seconds by his heartbeats as he watched in his peripheral vision his men sweep through an assault they had planned and rehearsed until it was instinctive.

  They got eight seconds before the first return fire came. Joe was startled at the ferocity of it. Fourteen men, most of them already down, could not hit the dock like this.

  “It’s coming from the tree line!”

  Joe looked around and saw men rushing across the sand toward the pier. Too many men.

  * * *

  Joe dropped his forehead against his arm as another bunch of wood splinters tore from the dock. With forty to forty-five men coming at them to try and overwhelm the pier, they couldn’t knock them down fast enough. Even the two snipers left on the rocks were finding it a challenge to slow them down. And somewhere in that tree line were two machine-gun nests determined not to give them a chance to try.

  Boomer raced around the boathouse to the front line they had established, bringing more ammo, spreading the clips between them as he ran. He dropped in beside Bear. “I’m glad we brought more ammo than even I thought we would need.”

  “The boat?” They would lose the pier soon if they couldn’t stop the machine-gun nests.

  “Cougar’s almost got it.”

  Shredded corrugated steel from the boathouse came raining down around them.

  Boomer leaned against him as he began pulling grenades from his vest pockets. “Do you get the feeling we were expected?”

  Twenty-Five

  * * *

  Kelly felt uneasy with no reason for it. When she would have normally stopped to chat, she bypassed friends in the church lobby to instead slip into the sanctuary, seeking the quietness there. She found an empty bench and took a seat, set aside her purse and her Bible. The sanctuary was cool. The organist had begun to play a background chorus to prepare for the service.

  She gripped the back of the bench before her and rested her chin on her hands. Something was wrong.

  Lord, I don’t know why I am feeling such a burden to pray for Joe right this minute, but You understand the need if there is one. Give them courage. Keep them focused. Keep them safe.

  God is my refuge . . . Please be their refuge at this moment.

  The burden lifted but not the sense of disquiet. It was like this when the team was deployed, the lack of news foretelling the worst. She repeated her prayer and the unease finally changed to calm trust. Even if they didn’t need the prayer, she did. She needed to let go of the worry. God was her refuge too. What if Joe didn’t come home? She let herself consider her worst fear. Would she change what she had decided regarding Joe?

  No. If anything she would waffle less and instead show more courag
e. She had let Joe see her afraid and worried. Instead of going to God and being honest—I’m worried; help me know You are my refuge—she had asked Joe to accept her worry as normal, to carry that pressure she put on him.

  Her eyes were beginning to open. She hadn’t escaped those three years of wandering unharmed—she was back but the restoration was still going on. Three years of going her own way had taught her to worry about life. Right now her worry was a good benchmark for how far from “God is my refuge” she had come. If something happened . . . She had survived before; she would survive again.

  She owed Joe an apology.

  God, I’m sorry. When Joe gets back, I want a chance to talk with him. I owe him that.

  * * *

  “We control the boat. We’ll cover while you come across!” Cougar yelled.

  Under this kind of fire the time for the four of them still on the far side of the boathouse to get safely around the dock, climb over the boat railing onto the open deck, and get into the central hub was too great. The device had to come first. “Get that boat out of the harbor!” Bear hollered into the mike. “Swing around the reef to meet up with the snipers. We’ll take to the water and extract at point Charlie.”

  “Roger, L-T!”

  The engine was throttled hard, surging the diesel boat away from the dock and back to sea under SEAL control, most of the platoon already aboard.

  Joe could see history repeating itself—the platoon taking the device to safety, he and a few others holding off the men who were trying to stop that from happening. It was his and Nick’s final actions all over again. He had just repeated the exact same decision. It was the right move. Logic told him that.