Everything Changes (18 page)

Carey growled impatiently. “Fucking stop it, dude. We’re not comparing stories here. I’m not sitting here thinking your problems are bullshit because you didn’t get your fucking leg blown off like I did. What happened to you happened to
you
and no one else.”

Jase pulled away from Carey and sat on the edge of the bed, his head dropping into his hands. Carey didn’t say anything, just laid a hand gently on Jase’s back, letting Jase feel the warmth, the connection.

“Talk to me, Jase.”

Jase stood up, and Carey’s hand fell back on the bed as he watched Jase start to pace back and forth. When he finally spoke, Jase’s words came out rapid and clipped.

“After you were injured and transported back stateside, I was going crazy, Carey. I couldn’t find out a fucking thing about you, how you were, if you were even fucking alive. Things were slow, not much action, and I wanted—no, needed to keep busy.”

Four years ago—A firebase somewhere in Afghanistan

“HM1 D
E
S
ANTIS
.”

Jase turned from where he was organizing his medical supplies to see Senior Chief Watkins standing in the doorway of the med hooch. He immediately dropped what he was doing and turned to face the other man, not quite snapping to attention but displaying the proper respect in his stance.

“Yes, Senior,” he replied crisply.

“Take a load off, Doc,” Watkins said, waving Jase to a stool and taking a seat himself in one of the two chairs against the wall. Jase complied, sinking down with a sigh, grateful for the informality.

“How you doin’, son?” Watkins asked shrewdly, scanning Jase’s face, probably noting the dark circles under Jase’s eyes, the evidence of lack of sleep.

Jase grimaced. “Hanging in there, Senior. What can I do for you?”

Watkins didn’t take the bait, not allowing Jase to redirect the conversation, his eyes steady on Jase’s face.

“Define ‘hanging in there,’ Petty Officer,” he ordered quietly. Jase suppressed an impatient sigh; why couldn’t they just talk about the guy’s fucking jock itch or whatever he was fucking in here for?

Jase’s impatience drained away as quickly as it had appeared, and he sagged wearily on his stool.

“Not sleeping well,” he grunted. “Can’t fucking eat. I feel like I’m coming out of my skin, just wanna
do
something. Just wanna hunt down and kill those motherfuckin’ assholes who blew up my best friend.” The last words held a wealth of anguish, and the senior chief, who was currently on his third combat deployment, looked steadily at him, understanding in his eyes.

“That day was hell, son. But you did your job. You saved lives, and that’s what you’re here for.” The simple words were a balm to Jase’s battered heart, and he relaxed a little.

“I just wish—I wish I knew how Everett was doing,” he said fretfully. “I hate not being able to find out anything. He doesn’t have any family, anyone to watch out for him, you know?”

“He’s getting the best care possible, DeSantis. He’s a tough motherfucker, that one. You pulled him through, and now it’s up to him.” Watkins looked Jase straight in the eye. “Just like you surviving this shit and getting home in one piece is up to
you.
You need to get your head back in the game, son. Force yourself to eat, do your best to sleep. You know better than anyone we all gotta fuckin’ stay on our toes in this place. You don’t do your buddy no good if you get dead over here ’cause you wasn’t paying attention. You hear me?”

Jase swallowed and nodded before answering, “Yes, sir.” The irony didn’t escape him that he had given this exact same lecture to men himself in the past, and how difficult it was now to take his own fucking advice. Jesus.

Watkins picked up a pen from Jase’s desk and idly turned it end over end between his fingers as he continued. “I came in here for a reason besides busting your balls,” he said. “You know we got a frogman team here, yeah?”

Jase nodded again. He’d seen the SEAL team arrive a couple of days ago but hadn’t paid much attention to their movements.

“Turns out their medic was injured pretty severely on the last mission, got sent home. They’ve had some new mission on the burner and it’s gotten scrapped twice. It just went to boil again, that’s why they’re here, and they’re gonna need a medic and shooter. It’s time sensitive, can’t really wait to get another frog medic here. I thought of you. Besides being a top-notch doc, you can handle yourself in a fight; I seen that out in the field. You interested? I ain’t gonna make you go on no mission you don’t wanna go on, son. This is volunteer only.”

“Fuck yeah, I’m interested,” Jase burst out. “Sir,” he tacked on belatedly.

Watkins chuckled. “Figured you’d wanna keep busy. Okay, I’ll talk to their LT and they’ll find a time to read you in. I don’t know nothing about the mission, don’t really wanna know, to be honest. But keep your head about you, son. Do what you need to do to be a hundred percent in the game. You hear me?” He said this last bit fiercely, and Jase jerked his head up to meet his eyes. “I can’t lose no more good men, DeSantis,” the senior chief said fervently.

Jase stood up. “Thank you, Senior,” he said, making no promises. There was no guarantee he could keep them. Watkins smiled faintly, understanding that as only one warrior to another could. He dropped the pen on Jase’s desk and left the hooch.

O
VER
THE
next few days, Jase was busy with workups, getting ready for the mission. Not long after his conversation with Watkins, he was called in to meet with the team. He walked into the main hooch to find six men sprawled about, leaning on desks, slouching in chairs, and they looked him over appraisingly, not saying anything until one of them drawled, “Hey, Doc, so glad you’re here. I got a powerful ache in my balls.”

“Dude, don’t tell him, show him,” another man piped up, his voice full of suppressed laughter.

The first man stood up and began unbuckling his belt to the hoots and whistles of the others. Jase knew better than to show any reaction, which would escalate things until he’d never live it down. These were highly trained men with a dangerous, stressful job, and they were just blowing off steam, giving the FNG, or fucking new guy, a hard time.

Instead of replying, he reached into his pocket where he’d stuffed a pair of latex gloves earlier while he’d been putting away supplies, and pulled them on, making a show of it, the latex making a snapping sound. He raised his eyebrows, waiting.

The room erupted in laughter, and someone clapped Jase hard on the back before the team leader, an imposingly muscular man, said, “Okay, ladies, settle down. Let’s get this tea party started.”

“Who brought the scones? I want blueberry,” someone called out, and for a minute there were mock orders for food shouted out, and Jase clearly heard the wistful overtones of men who had been away from home for too long and were missing its comforts. The team leader, Vince, let it go on for a few moments before calling again for them to settle down.

“Okay. For the benefit of FNG here,” he said, waving toward Jase, “I’m going to go over the basics of the mission again, just so he knows what to expect.”

Instantly the other men in the room were all business, professional to the core. Jase could tell it was a very tight-knit group, as all spec ops teams were.

“This is basically an intel-gathering mission,” Vince said. “We need a doc along, and your chief tells us you can handle yourself out there. Heard what happened here,” he added. “That’s rough.”

A couple of guys leaned over and bumped knuckles with Jase, a quiet kind of sympathy for the tragedy the firebase had recently endured. Jase nodded in acknowledgement of the support, warmed by the implied acceptance. Even though he wasn’t a SEAL, no matter how well-trained and hardcore these men were, it was a relief to them to have someone along on the mission who could put them back together and keep them alive if the worst happened.

Finally Vince seemed satisfied with Jase’s understanding of what to expect when they launched, and he crossed his arms over his muscular chest, leaning back in his chair.

“Got anything to add, Doc?” he drawled. “Any public service announcements for us?”

Jase looked around the circle of suddenly amused faces. Apparently it was time to fuck with the new guy again.

“Uh, don’t forget to put on your sunscreen?” he deadpanned. “SPF one million.”

The men guffawed in appreciation, and somebody stood and clapped Vince hard on the back.

“CO don’t need no sunscreen, Doc,” the guy chortled. “Anybody can see that!”

“Black dudes can still get sunburned, Rodriguez! Don’t you know nothing?” somebody else called out, and Vince reached over and smacked the first man on the back of the head.

“Jackass,” he grunted, and they all laughed again, including Jase, who was secretly relieved to have the focus of the teasing off of himself.

After the briefing, Jase spent the next few days on preparation, checking and double-checking the functionality of every piece of equipment he would be responsible for. He spent hours on his medical bag, going over every possible contingency in his mind, making sure his supplies were up-to-date and plentiful, wanting to be prepared for anything. After he was satisfied he was ready for the caregiver aspect of the mission, he shifted his mindset to warrior, meticulously checking his weapon’s laser sight and his night-vision goggles, his body armor.

The entire team worked together to prepare. As Jase was learning, in special operations nobody had just one job. He found himself assisting with the vehicle maintenance, tuning the vehicles until they purred. He helped augment the armament with ballistic blankets placed over the seats and along the ceilings and floorboards to provide an additional layer of protection against incoming rounds and shrapnel.

Jase was happy for the distraction all of this was providing him; he was actually able to put thoughts of Carey from his mind for hours at a time. He knew Carey was alive, having gotten word at last through the pilot grapevine that he had made it to Germany safely. It was in their hands now, and Jase knew he needed to have his head completely in the game if he was going to make it home to see Carey again.

Early one evening, Vince finally deemed they were ready to launch in a matter of hours, and Jase’s tension reached almost unbearable levels. To relax he decided to join a small group of guys who were passing around candy and cracking jokes as they sprawled next to a makeshift fire pit someone had dug outside the hooches. Jase pulled up an old ammo crate and sat down, accepting a handful of M&Ms with a grateful smile.

“Someone got a care package?” he asked, savoring the chocolate, thinking how much for granted he’d always taken these small pleasures.

“Farley did, that lucky son of a bitch,” someone drawled. “Not only is his wife fucking hot, but she sends him boxes full of candy and porn mags.”

Farley grinned. “She’s a keeper.”

“More than you deserve, fucker.”

“Got that right,” Farley said fervently.

The other guys ribbed him for a few minutes, then quieted when Danny Allen walked up with his guitar and sat down. Jase had become fairly close to the SEAL as they’d worked together over the past week on their mission prep. Danny was a talented singer, and the two of them had bonded over spirited music discussions and impromptu jam sessions. Danny had appropriated someone’s battered old guitar, and everyone enjoyed it when he had time to sit down and take their minds off of things for a little while. He had a beautiful singing voice, pure and rich, and the sound of it always sent shivers down Jase’s spine.

“Got any requests, y’all?” he said in his soft Southern drawl, laughing as the requests flew fast and thick from men hungry for a taste of home. Danny was a versatile musician, and he knew songs from almost any genre. Jase was in awe of his talent and loved listening to him no matter what he chose to sing.

As the latest song drew to a close, some devil on Jase’s shoulder prompted him to ask, “Hey, dude, how about some Linkin Park?” The other guys chuckled, sure Jase had stumped him with the request for the hard rock/rap the musical group was famous for.

All their mouths fell open as, without so much as batting an eyelash, Danny launched into an acoustic version of “Roads Untraveled,” the haunting lyrics so much more powerful without the hard driving beat behind them.

As the song came to an end, Jase found himself singing along, his husky baritone entwining with Danny’s tenor, the poignant words floating on the silent night air, men surreptitiously wiping their eyes and looking carefully anywhere but at each other.

S
EVERAL
HOURS
later, Jase was bumping along in the passenger seat of a heavily fortified vehicle, his M-4 between his knees. There were six vehicles total, with four men in each. As Vince had outlined to Jase during the briefing, the SEAL team was working with members of the ANA, or Afghan National Army, to gather intelligence on a specific target who was holed up around thirty clicks away. The man in question was suspected to be coordinating the transfer of weapons from across the border, directly into the hands of the insurgents.

Each team member wore local dress with their body armor and armament underneath the loose clothing. Hopefully from a distance they looked like a ragged band of criminals; even the vehicles they were using looked exactly like the kind used by the enemy. Jase knew they would eventually be spotted by the goatherds and shepherds that dotted the region, and they’d done everything possible to look like anything but what they really were.

Jase and Vince were in the third vehicle back, Danny and Ali, the ANA commander, directly behind them. Since the ANA members were more familiar with the territory, they were on point in the two lead trucks, with the rest of the SEAL team interspersed and bringing up the rear. They drove at a slow, deliberate pace, navigating solely by Night Vision Goggles and thermal scope; Jase had never seen darkness as absolute as an Afghan night. Conversation was kept to a minimum so as not to interfere with each man’s situational awareness, their eyes constantly scanning, tracking the surrounding cliffs for any type of movement.