Chapter 17
Flash braced himself. Like a tide rising too fast to outrun, the black surged again. Sound built in layers. Cannon fire. Drums. Men shouting with American accents, young and raw.
His gut clenched. A different war was coming.
The black tide broke, and he was standing in smoke.
Cannon fire thundered across a harbor, each blast rattling his bones. The acrid stench of powder clung to the back of his throat. His ears rang with the crash of splintering wood, men shouting orders over the chaos.
He looked down, naval jacket, heavy wool, musket at his side, cutlass in his fist. His body swayed with the roll of a ship under fire. The deck pitched, slick with blood and seawater.
He caught a flash of movement beside him, familiar even here. Easy. Dressed like him, buckskin swapped for a naval coat, a tricorn hat askew, black curls tied back in a queue at the nape of his neck. He grinned, wild and fearless, swinging his cutlass like he’d been born to it.
Flash saw it, the tendril. Thick as a tree root, flowing between them, flexing even under strain. It tethered them as surely here as it did in the real world.
Easy’s voice rang out, sharp and certain. “They won’t take what we fought for. They’ll never take it, those black bastards of their twisted dark god. Stars and stripes!”
The shout cut through cannon fire. Men around them echoed it, blades lifted, the flag whipping high above the ramparts through smoke and flame.
Torn, scorched, but unbroken. Through the Veil’s strange filter, the stars and stripes weren’t just fabric.
They burned with light, holding the shadows at bay.
“Boarders!” someone bellowed, and men surged forward.
His SEAL instincts screamed movement. Close the gap, control the deck, protect the flank.
He slashed, parried, fought side by side with Easy.
A cutlass rang against his blade, sparks flying.
He shoved hard, driving the enemy back, but in the man’s eyes he saw it again, the shadow.
Not a soldier, not an officer. Something riding him. Feeding him.
The ship shuddered. Smoke stung his eyes. He lunged, caught the man’s shoulder, shoved him back into chaos.
His stomach clenched. The War of 1812. He knew it. A second fight for independence. Britain came back to reclaim what they’d lost, testing a fledgling country’s will to stand.
Again, the young nation nearly broke here, his warrior’s mind whispered. The capital burned. The White House in flames. But they endured, and in that endurance was proof the republic could survive its infancy. Stand as one . Even stronger.
A whisper pressed against his skull. Unity is fragile. When men falter, when fracture wins, Chaos slips through.
His chest heaved. His grip on the cutlass shook. He wanted to deny it, to throw the blade down and scream he didn’t belong here, but the truth of it seared through him like a brand.
Silence pressed heavily. His breath tore in and out. He wanted to laugh, to sneer at the absurdity but his gut betrayed him. The image of that flag wouldn’t leave. Tattered. Charred. Still flying.
That was the point, wasn’t it? Not victory, not conquest. Just survival. A young nation proving it wouldn’t break, and the enemy wasn’t only redcoats. It was fracture. The shadow behind them, whispering division, trying to pull the seams apart.
Flash swore under his breath, low and vicious. “Bullshit,” he muttered. “History lesson bullshit.” But the seed had already lodged deep.
The secretary’s office gleamed with old power, dark wood paneling, shelves lined with treaties and photographs, a desk wide enough to land a drone on. Eleanor White rose as they entered, pearls at her throat, her bearing calm and measured.
“Lieutenant Penn.” Her smile was warm. “Maddy, Clay? This is a special day to have some of my favorite people in my office.” She approached Maddy and hugged her. “How are you doing?”
The secretary had given them a reception after the Haiti op, where Twister, Shark, and Maddy almost died. The team was setting a precedent, weeding out corruption, and once again saving the US the embarrassment of an international incident.
Shark straightened, his mouth softening. “We’re well, ma’am. Thank you for asking.”
“It’s good to see you both.”
Her gaze flicked to the ambassador. “Madam Secretary,” he said with a nod. “I wish it was under better circumstances.”
She nodded warmly, then turned to Twister. “You, Shane? Fully recovered, I see.”
Twister inclined his head. “Fit and well. Married now.”
Eleanor beamed. “How lovely. I would love to meet her sometime.” Her focus came back to Tex. “Now. What can I do for you?”
Tex didn’t waste a second. “We’re looking for Emily Shade. Your suits snatched her from our custody on the runway before we even had a chance to escort her home the way she deserved.”
“Of course, I was informed there had been a civilian involved in an op. I haven’t been fully briefed yet.” Her gaze slid toward Kevin, standing with arms folded like he belonged there. “Kevin, where is Emily Shade?”
Kevin lifted his chin, trying for bravado.
“Home. She was released yesterday.” He continued, his voice smooth, oiled.
“Miss Shade was debriefed according to protocol. She was instructed not to discuss classified details, and she was informed that if she did…” He shrugged delicately. “Treason has consequences.”
Eleanor inclined her head. “That is standard procedure. Classified material must remain protected.”
Tex stepped forward, shoulders squared, his voice cutting the room in half. “With respect, ma’am, she got caught up in our op, threatened by hostiles, and we offered her protection, which she accepted. Without her everything would have gone to hell.”
Kevin pressed on, oblivious. “Procedure was followed. We cannot bend the rules for every civilian who meddles in national security. If Miss Shade didn’t want consequences, she should have kept to her research. Everyone makes sacrifices for?—”
“Don’t you dare lecture me about sacrifice,” he growled.
Tex’s jaw locked, a muscle jumping hard enough to split granite.
When he spoke again, his voice was low and lethal.
“My men and I bleed for this country. That’s what we signed up for.
But Emily was caught up in circumstances beyond her control, and she stepped up with courage and conviction.
She earned the right to be treated with respect. ”
The silence that followed was thick, electric. Even Eleanor’s frown deepened, her gaze shifting sharply from Tex to Kevin.
From the corner of the office, a voice cut through the silence, deep and steady.
“I should like to hear more about this young woman who ‘meddled.’”
Kevin spun, paling as Senator Patrick McPherson rose from his chair by the window. So intent on what they were doing, Brawler missed him in the corner. But when he stepped forward, every ounce of his presence filled the room.
Tex straightened automatically, his men following suit.
Respect was reflex. McPherson wasn’t just any senator.
He was one of the longest-serving, most respected voices in the Senate.
He’d championed the military his entire career.
The team knew him well. They’d even sat at his table, shaken his hand at his home.
But there was more binding them than politics.
His son had died on one of their missions.
Friendly fire. Bondo’s bullet had passed through a tango and into the senator’s boy.
The investigation had been brutal. Tex’s now-wife, JAG lawyer Nora Wilson, had carried it on her shoulders.
The team had stood together through the worst of it.
Somehow, McPherson had never turned his back on them.
Brawler spoke up. “She’s a grad student studying jaguars. Her topic is… hell, I remember it. Territorial Adaptation and Survival Strategies of Jaguars in Human-Impacted Ecosystems of the Ecuadorian Amazon. ”
Easy coughed. “He’s lucky Flash isn’t here.”
Brawler ignored his comment, wishing desperately that Flash was here.
He would have cut the tension in the room.
So, yes, he remembered her dissertation topic.
He remembered everything when it came to his pixie.
Emily and her dissertation were as valid as their mission to protect the innocent.
“She’s gutsy, smart as hell, and she did things I didn’t expect from a civilian.
” She’d turned him upside down, and he was never going to be the same.
“She handed over all her research to us without any coercion. Everything, ma’am, effectively hampering, if not outright destroying, her chances of receiving her doctorate. ”
Tex didn’t blink, his Texas twang hardening. “Yet she was dragged off the runway like a suspect. Held in silence. Threatened. That’s not procedure. That’s a disgrace.”
Brawler’s chest heaved. The words ripped out of him, raw.
“She saved my life, at considerable risk to her own. Hauled me back from a fatal drop with nothing but a root, her five-foot-three, ninety-pound body, and her ingenuity.” His voice was rough, stripped to the bone.
“You need to understand that. She wasn’t some liability we carried.
She was part of the team. She chose to be part of us. ”
“She saved six Marines,” Shark said.
“She provided the data that led us to American weapons before they could vanish into the wrong hands,” Twister said.
“She stood up for us when the Ecuadorian military showed up, her explanation saving not only our asses out there, but an international incident that would have caused a political shitstorm and considerable embarrassment to our government,” Dagger said.
“When our teammate was down, she stood over him to protect him with nothing but a knife against a camp of armed men,” Bondo said.
“Without her, people would be dead. Without her, you’d be dealing with more than a SEAL Team and an ambassador and his daughter,” Brawler finished.