Fallen SEAL Legacy (7 page)

“We are given a KA-BAR knife when we get our Tridents, upon graduation from BUD/S. Each one is engraved with the name of a fallen SEAL, someone who was a specialist in our chosen discipline. I’m a medic. I believe Will—your brother—was a medic as well.”

“Yes. He wanted to be a doctor.”

Cooper nodded. “I have thought about that myself.” He slipped his hands into his pockets, cleared his throat and shrugged. “I’ve been asked to find out about the family of this fallen hero.”

“Son, excuse me if I differ. He died in a helicopter crash. At base.”

Libby felt her spine straighten, her hands turned to ice water.

“Which he wouldn’t have been on if he hadn’t been a SEAL going on a mission. “ Cooper gave her father a stern look. Mrs. Brownlee turned to her husband, alarm written on her face. Dr. Brownlee nodded and continued to look at his wife’s hand tucked inside his own.

“Austin,” Mrs. Brownlee whispered. She softly placed her palm at his heart. Libby could see her mother’s radar go into high alert.

“Look,” Dr. Brownlee started.  “Oh, hell.” He disentangled his hand and stood up. “You will forgive me if I don’t have the stomach for some long sad tale of loss, ten Hail Marys and a couple of God Bless Americas. My brother died for nothing.
Nothing!
”

Cooper crossed the room and stood a few feet from doctor. “Well, maybe he died for me and not for you. I for one am grateful, sir. What you do with your grief is your deal. Maybe he died so you could get rich and play around in your garden, and drink too much. I don’t care what the hell you do with your life. I will honor him like he deserves.”

“Well, son—” Her father didn’t get very far.

Coop stiffened and pointed at the doctor. “Don’t you fucking call me son. A better man than you called me that. And his body is spread all over the Nebraska farmland he loved.”

Cooper strode over to his jacket and helmet. He turned and added to Dr. Brownlee’s back. “You know something? I never saw him in a suit. Never. Even when my sister—” Cooper’s voice broke. “Fuck,” he said to his helmet. Without looking up, he mumbled, “Excuse me, ma’am.” He stomped across the room, and into the lobby toward the front door.

Mrs. Brownlee was up and tried to block his way.

“So sorry, Ma’am. I can see this was one huge mistake. Pardon me for ruining your evening.”

Without as much so a slight glance towards Libby, Cooper was out the door. She could hear him mutter a string of choice words until her mother closed the door behind him. Libby jumped when she heard the growl of the small scooter engine. For some reason, it made her giggle.

“You think that was funny, Brownie?” said her father, who glared at her. She felt suddenly afraid.

“Austin, I think you’ve done enough for one evening. Your manners. Where did they go?” Libby’s mom injected.

Dr. Brownlee emptied his drink, closing his eyes like he was savoring his last. “My manners? Right now I think they’re buried with Will. How dare he come waltzing in here, dredging up old wounds? The Navy took Will. What right do they have to ask me to dig up my memories to benefit some bullshit code of honor?”

When Libby looked up, she noticed her father’s face was lined with tears. She had never seen him cry.

She excused herself. Listening to the heated discussion between her parents, she climbed the staircase to her room and closed the door behind her. Her father’s drinking was weighing heavily on her mind. His sudden hatred of the Navy surprised her, too. She’d not heard this much about it until tonight, and she wondered why.

Dad’s got something going on.
She’d felt it the moment she called to tell them she’d be visiting for a few days. She saw it in his face when she first drove up. Something was distracting him, preoccupying him. The one man she needed to lean on, and all of a sudden he wasn’t available.

It also wasn’t like him not to be respectful and cordial, and here he’d practically tossed the young sailor out of his house. That wasn’t the father she knew and loved. She shivered at the thought of the dark man who had replaced her usually warm and kindhearted father.

She thought about Cooper. It wasn’t right he had been sent away thinking they were freaks. The guy was following orders, he’d said. She knew the SEALs were honorable men, and, even if it was to honor the memory of Uncle Will, her dad should not have treated him this way.

To distract herself, she picked up one of her books, and put on her iPad headphones to drown out the sounds of the argument brewing downstairs. She soon fell asleep.

Libby woke up later, noticing the sky had turned dark. The house was mercifully quiet. She got her keys and slipped downstairs to her car.
‘Never let the sun set on a disagreement,’
her dad had always said. Well, it was past sunset, but maybe she could fix this just a little bit. Then she’d sort out the rest of it later. Maybe it was time to stop running and start facing the truth.

Chapter 7

Fuck me. What was I thinking?

Cooper rounded the turn and almost clipped a vintage Datsun convertible driven by a blonde in a sun visor.

Fucking hate this part of town. Rich people are useless. Clueless.

He looked upon row after row of professionally landscaped front yards, lawns looking like they were trimmed with scissors, blooming plants framing arched windows in courtyards behind stucco-fenced walls. Just about every home had some variety of bisque-colored tiled roofs. Lots of BMWs, Mercedes, Jags and even Bentleys.

Don’t belong here. Never did. Don’t want to come back. Ever.

Cooper decided he’d just tell Timmons the family had refused all contact. It was partially true, after all. The ladies would have gone along with his visit, but Dr. Brownlee, no, he would forever be on the wrong side of anything to do with the Navy, and the SEALs in particular.

That man doesn’t deserve the sacrifice his brother made.
Whatever this man’s beef with the Navy, it was his own shit to wear. And why? He was the fuckin’ asshole who got to live in the big house with the pretty wife and…and…

The thought and resulting lack of focus caused him to swerve over the centerline.  He got a honk from a green four-door landscaping truck towing a trailer and blaring Mariachi music.

Adrenaline and his well-trained reflexes kept him from hitting the vehicle. He let out the power and his scooter lurched safely back to his proper lane. The impact with the old truck would surely take away all his pain, he thought. It would be damn quick, but it would hurt like a son of a gun.

Looks like Gunny’s old truck.
Gunnery Sergeant Joseph Hoskins, who owned the rusty old gym Team guys frequented for their PT duty, had bought an old truck from the Forestry Service last year at auction. The thing was as stubborn as Gunny, and just as temperamental. Fredo had one, too. Maybe if his death wish didn’t subside, he should get one as well. Might be safer. After all, he was more comfortable under the carriage of an old truck or tractor than meeting a pampered know-it-all psychiatrist and his…

Get a grip, Coop. You’re no whiny mama’s boy.

A flood of revulsion came over him, tightening his stomach and sending stinging moisture to his eyes.

Don’t be a fuckin’ crybaby.

He worked to reduce his stress level by lowering his heartbeat. He took deep breaths as he accelerated and wound down out of the neighborhood of perfect homes.

He became more comfortable in traffic along the Strand, heading back to Coronado. Home. Home to the Babemobile he’d left at the beach.

He lowered the rear ramp of the motor home and stowed his scooter, closing the electric conveyor door behind him. Bay was barking incessantly. Coop let him out on the beach and watched as the dog raised his leg over a shrub in the parking lot. In seconds, the big brown pooch ran enthusiastically back and forth in the sand, and then to Coop’s side, begging to play.

But Coop wasn’t in the mood. He took the dog inside, gave him some kibble and fresh water. He stripped off his shoes, dress slacks and button-down white shirt. Still shiny from disuse, the shoes hurt his feet. He threw everything into the corner with a satisfying
thwat
. Light was just beginning to dim outside. He donned his swim shorts, told Bay to stay put and promised he’d be back in a bit, locked the motor home, and ran across the warm sand. He dove into the surf, thankful to be back in the water, where he felt safe. Where the world was right.

Cooper swam parallel to the shore, back and forth in one-mile lengths, like he had done hundreds of times before. He preferred the ocean here, rather than the inlet near base, which was full of debris, oil and gasoline residue. The cold water soothed his soul.

Like a bee sting, he couldn’t shrug off the lack of respect Brownlee had for his fallen brother. It was so wrong on so many levels. At least he had a family.

Big house. Doesn’t even understand how easily it all could be taken away.
He thought about his mom patching his shirts with leftover pieces of shirting from discarded clothing. She even used to tie his shoelaces together to make whole ones, which got him in trouble with the kids at school. One time she’d asked his dad if the soap they got in a motel cost them extra, since she’d brought her own. They’d worked so hard for every penny they had, but everything they had was theirs. They owned it completely, outright.

And now it was gone forever. As if it had never existed.

The sun was sinking on the horizon. Coop sat for a few minutes to enjoy the view, letting salt water drip down his skin. The warm sand felt good as he buried his toes in it. It was going to be a clear night tonight. The stars would be out there in droves, like tourists in Heaven.

The last crescent of bright salmon-colored sun melted into the watery horizon. It was a routine Coop liked to do every day he could: watch the sun die. In the remaining afterglow, he walked silently up the beach toward his silver home.

Coop heard banging car doors and saw Fredo, Kyle, Armando and a new guy running towards him.

“You are to get wet and sandy, sailor,” Kyle barked. His LPO looked serious as a heart attack but Fredo and Armando were still punching each other in the arm. The new guy, a handsome African-American  who was almost Coop’s height, smiled with the biggest white teeth he had ever seen. He had the air of an officer. Career man all the way.

Cooper tried to look relaxed, but he didn’t really want to be around anyone tonight.

“I said, get your butt off the sand, or these motherfuckers are gonna bury you right here,” Kyle yelled back. He did a right good job imitating one of their BUD/S drill instructors .

Coop just sat in the sand and pushed some of it over his wet legs.

That was a call to action. The resulting sand fight lasted almost ten minutes. When it was all done, Cooper looked like a creature from a horror film, crusted with wet sand, Kyle had been pants’ed and was trying to pull up his cargos before tourists would get a look at his naked ass, Armando’s hair was wild and full of sand, and Fredo was swearing up a storm in Spanish, having broken one of his gold chains. He was on all fours looking for it in the orange light of dusk. The new guy had stayed out of it and was sitting on the step of Cooper’s motor home, looking neat and organized.

On cue, the three of them got down and joined Fredo until Kyle found the chain and returned it to Fredo’s sandy palm.

“First one to the surf doesn’t have to jump in,” Kyle yelled out. Everyone headed for the white water. Cooper turned and saw Kyle call out to their new Team guy. “C’mon LT. That means you t,oo.”

So this guy was a new AOIC, Assistant Officer In Charge. Technically above Kyle’s rank on the Teams, he would be learning all he could from the capable Team 3 LPO.

The new guy looked very by-the-book prissy. The horrified expression on his face egged the guys on. They catcalled him until he started to run. And man, the guy could run! He beat Kyle by a good ten yards, but stood just outside the surf. Like everyone else, the new guy tossed his shoes and dove in.

The five of them formed a school and swam down the water’s edge just past the surf, parallel to the shore. Coop was already winded from his earlier swim, so he let Kyle win, but normally he’d almost be able to lap them. But, God, he needed this. He needed the sand. He needed to exhaust himself playing in the water.

As they completed their swim and walked back up the beach, Kyle turned to Coop, and his stomach clenched. He knew the questions would start in now. He just wanted to crash in bed, but no, his Team leader had other plans. “You okay, Coop? I expected a call from you.”

“Talked to you yesterday, Landmine.” Just like all the rest of the guys, Kyle Lansdowne’s name was morphed into anything that resembled his former pronunciation, Lannie, Landing Gear, Landmine, being the favored. Calling him Lannie would earn you a punch in the arm, if you were lucky.

“You know what the hell I mean.”

“I was visiting that family Timmons asked me to go see.”

“Uh huh,” Kyle answered, taking deep gulps of air. “I don’t hear from you and I worry. You wouldn’t want me to worry, now, would you, Coop?”

“Nothing to worry about,” Coop hoped his words would give Kyle a warning to let it go. He didn’t want to talk about anything right now.

“Well, normally, Armando’s the one I would be worrying about.”

“Me?” Armando asked, feigning innocence. “I always find my way back home.”

“Now, Daisy was making some serious moves on Tootsie Roll over here,” Kyle said pointing his thumb to the new guy. “And I knew she wouldn’t do that unless you said it was cool, and all.”

“She doesn’t owe me anything—”

All three of Coop’s buddies began to whistle.

“Now I’m really worried,” said Kyle. “So you haven’t been fucked since you came back from Nebraska, I take it?”

Coop hesitated before answering, which earned him more whistles and cat calls. “Almost, but no.” Coop smirked as he recalled the look on Cora’s face when he’d left her. None of the guys would ever believe he’d actually walked away. He wanted that to remain a secret, too.