Chapter 2 #7
They couldn’t just run down to the lower deck, shooting every insurgent they came across.
That would blow their cover and eliminate the advantage of surprise for the Navy SEALs.
The only recourse that Team Specter had was to sneak back down to the lower deck undetected by the insurgents.
Marcus led the way with Aberlour watching their six.
The upper deck still looked clear of any guards as they approached the companionway.
They paused to check again for guards and Aberlour switched places with Marcus, tapping him on the shoulder to signal he’d be going first. Darting down the companionway, he scanned for insurgents before running to the other side of the deck to hide behind the crates stacked along the railing.
When the others joined him, Aberlour allowed himself a brief moment to just take a deep breath. It wasn’t over, though. They still had to slide down the rope they’d left earlier along the side of the ship. Hopefully, they’d make it out alive before the SEALs came in hot.
Aberlour signaled for Marcus and Oliver to descend first. “Coming down,” he told JD over the comms as he constantly monitored for guards on the lower deck. Fortunately, there were none around to witness their descent to the boat.
Just as Aberlour began his descent, carefully walking his way down the side of the cargo ship, the Navy helicopter appeared over the lower deck, the backwash from the rotor blades hit the metal containers, creating a terrible screeching noise of metal grating against metal.
The first SEAL hit the deck just as Aberlour vanished down the side of the ship. By the time the first volley of shots rang out, Aberlour had dropped into the boat, and JD hit the throttle, to get as much distance as possible between them and the cargo ship.
“Watch this,” Carlos complained, “the fuckers are gonna get a medal or some shit, and all we’ll get is a fucking ‘You were supposed to radio in!’ Damned Navy assholes!”
Aberlour snorted, placing a hand on Carlos’ shoulder and squeezing firmly.
“I’ll buy you a beer and a burrito,” he promised.
“Ahhh—now you’re talking, papi,” Carlos praised him with a beaming smile.
“Better not be no fucking beans in that burrito! He’s on the top bunk and farts enough for two people!” JD exclaimed over the roar of the motor. It was a miracle that he’d heard them and Aberlour couldn’t hold back his smile as the two began to bicker.
Aberlour relaxed and began removing all his equipment from his face, breathing freely for what seemed like the first time in days. Oliver leaned against him, chuckling as they both enjoyed the spray of saltwater on their faces.
“Am I crazy, or did that go smoothly?” he asked Aberlour, amazement in his voice.
“’Course it did,” Aberlour replied. “We were together.”
He hadn’t meant that to sound so serious, but as he turned to look at Oli, even in the pitch black of a moonless night, he could tell the man was mulling the words over with deep intensity.
“Yeah,” he finally said, voice hoarse. “Darling and Dumber.” He chuckled strangely and Aberlour didn’t understand what that meant. It didn’t matter. They were safe and sound and would be back on solid ground very soon.
Aberlour took another deep breath as their boat sliced through the choppy waves, and looked up at the sky, surprised to find the vastness somewhat moving as dawn approached.
Aberlour was summoned for a debriefing as soon as they returned to base.
To his surprise, however, he was not the only one there to be debriefed.
As he entered the bland conference room, Captain Shawn O’Reilly already occupied a seat at the table, looking none the worse for wear, apart from a black eye and a cut at the base of his neck.
“Took you long enough,” O’Reilly said, in lieu of a polite greeting, although his smirk was friendly.
“You’re bleeding—should probably learn to dodge better,” Aberlour said, his own cocky grin firmly in place.
He took a seat across the table. It was only the two of them for now.
Soon a paper pusher would come into the room, and they’d begin the lengthy process of being questioned about every detail of the operation.
The overlap of their schedules was likely why they were being interviewed together, but it was highly unusual.
“Everyone make it back?” Abe asked.
“Yes.”
He gave a nod of appreciation. He might not be on good terms with the SEALs, but he respected their work. They all had families to get back to just like everyone else.
“You?” O’Reilly asked after a moment.
Aberlour nodded. “Got—dicey, for a second, but we managed it,” he shrugged.
“How many bottles did you fill before you found the boat?” O’Reilly asked, amused again.
It took Aberlour a second to catch up, but he snorted when he did.
“SEALs—too fucking special to piss in a bottle,” he said, shaking his head.
“Marines! Bunch of goddamned animals,” O’Reilly responded, tit-for-tat, wearing a big smile.
O’Reilly was fairly attractive when he was smiling.
Like he was no longer carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
For a sudden, wild second, Aberlour almost told him so.
But then he imagined the right hook he’d get if he told this huge Navy SEAL he should smile more often, so he decided to keep it to himself.
“The brass had a hissy fit when you didn’t radio in—almost made us stand down.” O’Reilly seemed to be choosing his words with care.
“The insurgents took an axe to the panel—the radio was shot to shit—had to improvise,” Aberlour replied, refusing to take responsibility for the inability to communicate with his commander.
“That’s what we figured,” O’Reilly said with a nod. “I assumed even dumb-assed Recons would manage to recall all the steps to a two-step mission.”
Aberlour had the distinct impression he was being baited—or maybe tested.
“How generous of you,” Aberlour replied with a knowing smile. “See, we were genuinely impressed when you managed to find the cargo ship without requiring us to hold your hands. So glad your mom and dad let you come out to play, anyway.”
“It was a challenge—but we managed it,” Captain O’Reilly shrugged, playing along.
Aberlour admired the keen intelligence in his gaze.
He wanted to keep shooting the shit back and forth until one of them surrendered to the other.
Oddly enough, Abe had no doubt he’d be bested by the SEAL, but he wanted to pursue this anyway.
Wanted to be tested and forced into submission by this mountain of a man.
He didn’t get the chance—thankfully.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen!” a cookie-cutter, perfectly groomed, paper-pusher greeted them as he entered, carrying a stack of files, a laptop, and mug of coffee. After setting everything down at the head of the table, he opened his computer and with a smothered yawn gave a decisive nod.
“Shall we?” he asked, fingers hovering over the keyboard just like an over-eager student at a class lecture.
It was all Abe could do not to roll his eyes.
The debriefing lasted several hours. It was a laborious, tedious process.
By the time they were done, Aberlour felt like the only way he’d be able to recover from the brain drain briefing was to slam back a scotch while standing in a hot shower.
A fuck might work, too—but it wasn’t really in the cards for him at the moment, so he’d have to settle for some good ole smuggled Johnnie Walker.
“Staff Sergeant Aberlour!” O’Reilly called out, just as Aberlour had started walking down the hallway. He’d stayed behind for a minute to talk with paper-pusher but was now coming up behind Aberlour.
Aberlour turned to look at him inquisitively.
“Captain O’Reilly?” Abe replied cordially.
“Just Shawn—we can drop the bullshit now, can’t we?”
Aberlour huffed and shrugged.
“Then I’m Abe.”
“Not Gavin?”
“Never Gavin,” Aberlour declared with a sneer. He hated his given name.
Shawn smirked like it was funny, Abe wasn’t sure why.
Shawn reached for his back pocket and took out a piece of paper that had his phone number scribbled on it. He offered it to Abe, who plucked it from his hand with two fingers.
“Major General Dockland asked to see me when I got back—wanted to know what I’d thought of your team.”
“And you told him that we’re poorly trained dogs who pissed all over your carpet?” The crude words echoed around the hallway.
Shawn smiled at him.
“I told him the truth. That your team was competent, brave, and crazy. Everything a Marine reconnaissance team should be—”
His genuine honesty took Aberlour by surprise. The military was a giant pissing contest—especially between branches. For a captain in the Navy to say something like this to him was unheard of.
“Why are you telling me this?” Aberlour asked, suddenly suspicious of O’Reilly’s motives.
“Because I don’t like bullshit—and unless I’m reading you wrong—neither do you,” he replied.
Aberlour wasn’t sure that explained anything. He opened his mouth to question him on this, but the captain cut him off.
“And to apologize for Clarence. He’s being—dealt with, but I did appreciate the way you handled it.”
Aberlour gave a curt nod, then looked at the phone number still held between his middle and index finger.
“And this?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.
Shawn shrugged, looking almost a little bashful, “I don’t know a lot of straight shooters—and you’re the best shot I’ve seen in a long time. Perhaps when we’re both stateside, we can get a drink—leave the pissing contests on the ships.”
Maybe Abe was reading this wrong, but he could swear there was a hint of flirtation in his tone. Aberlour had never gotten hit on by a man before, but he felt like maybe that’s what was happening.
He looked down at the proffered scrap of paper and ran his thumb over the digits scribbled there. The man had horrible handwriting. Abe found this strangely surprising considering Shawn’s personality and squared away appearance.
“Then in the spirit of complete candor—my mom used to say that worthless men can drag down even the best ones,” Aberlour found himself saying, as he gazed at the numbers. “You should get rid of Clarence before he sets your whole career on fire.”
“As I’ve said—it’s in process, but things are never quite that simple,” Shawn replied tersely.
Aberlour looked up at him, surprised by his change in tone. Shawn’s jaw was now clenched and he was frowning.
“Of course,” Abe agreed. He held up the piece of paper, giving him a friendly smile. “You can explain it to me when we get that drink,” he countered. “Then I’ll tell you why you’re an idiot.” And because he’d apparently lost his goddamned mind, he winked at him.
Shawn smiled ruefully and shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe Aberlour’s nerve.
“See you around, Shawn,” Aberlour said with a smug grin and walked down the hall.
He didn’t turn around to check to see whether Shawn was watching him leave—but he sure as hell wanted to.