Hemingway closed his eyes and bowed his head, offering up his determination and strength to work hard to earn the honor he was receiving today. He and the men standing with him had been the ones to forge ahead and never quit, through adversity and pain they had formed into one solid team. It wasn’t just a BUD/S mentality, but the mindset of every SEAL who drew breath. Brothers in arms, brothers in creed, brothers in sweat and brothers in blood. And, the tip of the spear would always be sharp. SEALs were never out of the fight.
“As you join your platoon, I wish you good luck and good hunting. Now you will be presented with your tridents.”
He began calling out names starting with the officers, and there was one in particular that made him beam with pride to have been part of his boat crew.
“Special Operator and SEAL Team Seven, Lieutenant junior grade Adrian Foster Lane.”
Then they moved onto the enlisted. He smiled as they called out “Special Operator and SEAL Team Eight, Petty Officer Third Class, Matthew James Hitchcock. Special Operator and SEAL Team Seven, Petty Officer Third Class Milo Steven Prescott.”
Finally, it was Hemingway’s turn.
“Special Operator and SEAL Team Seven, Petty Officer Third Class Atticus David Sinclair.”
He walked up to the podium, received his diploma and knife. The Commanding Officer of the Navy Warfare Center pinned the trident above the left breast pocket of his uniform.
“Good job, young man.”
“Thank you, sir. It’s an honor.”
As the twenty of them funneled through to the end, the CO got back up on the podium and said, “Now is the time we normally name our honor man, but this BUD/S class rotation has been more than just routine. During our training we were required to deal with terrorists. To that end, one of our NCIS agents tirelessly worked behind the scenes to protect our candidates and instructors from harm. We will be naming two people here. The first woman to ever be presented with an honorary trident at one of NSW’s ceremonies, Naval Criminal Investigative Service, Special Agent Shea Palmer, our honor woman. It was her brilliant deduction, quick thinking, and exemplary service that saved all of our candidates lives that day.”
Hemingway couldn’t believe his eyes when Shea, dressed in a beautifully tailored navy-blue suit and white blouse, rose from the audience. She was still gorgeous in a kickass way, and more striking than he remembered. Her vibrancy showed through in her stunning dark eyes, her hair pulled severely back in a long ponytail, glinting like obsidian in the sunlight. The room was silent except for the tap of her blue high heels against the concrete. When she reached the CO, he pinned the trident to the left side of her jacket.
“The honor man for this graduating class is a commendable, hardworking, courageous member of our SEAL Team. He showed time and again that commitment to excellence, leadership, and humility are in our genetic code. Please rise and acknowledge Honor Man, SO Atticus David Sinclair.”
It took a moment for him to absorb it was his name being called. Professor nudged him. “Man, that’s you. Go.”
He rose, still disbelieving. As he walked up to the podium, he looked back at his teammates and his family. His sister was openly crying, his dad looking so proud he was about to bust, but it was the look in Kid’s eyes that almost did him in. He had been his friend, mentor, brother-in-law and a pain in his ass throughout this process, but now…now he was one of them, and it was more than he could have imagined it would be. Overcome, he worked to keep his composure.
He accepted the plaque from the CO and shook his hand. He turned and met Shea’s eyes. Her heart was showing in her gaze, and he had to remain neutral or he would break down. Overwhelmed at seeing her, overwhelmed by the day, he wanted to find a private place to expend all his emotions. They walked back to their seats, but before they parted, she slipped something into his hand. He sat down in his seat as the CO said, “Congratulations and welcome to the brotherhood.” It was a Hotel del room key.
After a hardy hoo-yah, they could only celebrate this occasion one way—the Navy SEAL way. They headed for the ocean at a dead run, racing to the pier, and leaping into San Diego Bay. Of course, there was more. Together they came out of the sea, stripped off their BDUs and in their UDT shorts, got back into the water for a quarter-mile swim from the mouth of Glorietta Bay to the Coronado Golf Course. Then a safety boat crewmember handed him his socks, boots, and T-shirt for a six-mile run around Coronado, landing at Gator Beach on the Pacific Ocean side of the Naval Amphibious Base where their SQT instructors had a barbecue waiting for them with steaks, a keg of beer and soft drinks. They were now SEALs, officially members of this fraternity.
He partied with his teammates, knowing this was the last time they would be able to do that as a team. He would miss every single one of the guys but looking to the future and his operations would be his next big push. The trident takes on its true meaning after many deployments–when you are no longer the FNG.
Lieutenant Bowie “Ruckus” Cooper, Master Chief Wes “Cowboy” McGraw, Lieutenant Ford “Fast Lane” Nixon and Petty Officer Errol “Pitbull” Ballantine were there along with East Coast SEAL Team Eight and Hitchcock’s new leaders, Lieutenant Michael “Tex” Penn, a dark-haired, broad-shouldered badass from Texas. He and Cowboy got along very well. Then there was his second in command, Master Chief Angelo “Bondo” Zane, who really got along well with gearhead Fast Lane. He was bald, built like Vin Diesel, his very presence demanding attention. Hemingway had never laughed so hard at their stories in his life.
As the party wound down, Shea’s hotel card was burning a hole in his pocket. He headed down the beach toward the hotel, walking in the night air, embracing the last moments of being in Coronado before he moved on to three weeks of cold weather training in Kodiak, Alaska.
The beautiful hotel was ablaze with lights as he approached. He was still a little damp, a little sandy, but that was all right with him. He went inside and up to the floor where her room was. Eager to see her, he wasn’t sure how she was going to react to seeing him. But he was encouraged by the fact that she had given him her room key.
He used it to open the door. The room was dim, the sliding glass doors open, letting in the sea and salt tainted air. There was movement on the terrace, and Shea, dressed in a bikini and white gauzy cover up, bright against her tanned skin, said, “Hello, sailor. Care to drop your anchor for a bit?”
He spied swim trunks and a cotton T-shirt on the bed. Getting out of his clothes he donned the dry, clean ones and walked through the room done in ocean blues, gold and warm sand tones, and through the terrace doors.
“You are full of surprises.”
She smiled. “Care for a drink? There’s iced tea or lemonade.”
He picked up a pitcher and poured out a glass full of tea. “Are you done with your assignment?”
Her face clouded over, and she nodded. “It’s done.”
He sat down on the couch across from her, meeting her eyes over the terracotta fire pit and said, “I’m sorry about your brother. I didn’t get the chance to tell you in person. Has he been found?”
That cloud darkened, and she looked away toward the pool, her voice soft and liquid. “No, he’s still missing. It’s been devastating on the heels of losing my sister. In this case, torturous, because we don’t know if he’s dead or alive.”