Dragonslayers: Battle Rhythm

To the men and women of the U.S. Armed Forces:

Through nightmares and flashbacks you faithfully serve;

your family and friends unaware of how dark your soul has become.

Acknowledgments

My husband Scott:

for supporting me

in all my crazy ideas,

and helping me live them

My best friend Jessica Betancourt:

For your encouragement, thanks for motivating me

Members of the 87th Medical Group:

Dr. M. Louis Weinstein

MSgt Timothy Vickerie

SSG William Johnson (U.S. Army)

SSgt Alison Legarda

SSgt Brian Weigandt

SrA Jeff Perry

Dave Bryk

Evelyn Soto

MSgt Victor Zea (514th)

SSgt Robin Gray (514th)

SrA Julius Martinez (514th)

Tony Capone (Ft. Dix VA Clinic- PTSD Group)

Copy edited by Joyce M. Gilmour, Editing TLC

editingtlc.com

Special thanks to:

Valenzano Winery

Shamong, NJ

Valenzanowine.com

Wonderful wine, wonderful people. I appreciate

your support on my writing endeavors. Your wine has been highly inspirational!

Cover

SrA Damien Wells

Artwork

Badger and Wolverine: Erika Brown

Chameleon Skin: Becky Adams

CHAPTER ONE

Pencil-whip: an idiomatic catch phrase commonly used by the military to indicate a document has been signed off with little or no regard to actual training being performed. It was a term Lieutenant Colonel Eagle Tryggvesson could live without. Unfortunately, she’d spent the last two weeks fabricating records to track all the training the team carried out over the last nearly three years. Everyone knew their job, there was no reason to waste time dotting all the i’s and crossing the t’s, except Admiral Connors wanted it documented.

Setting her pencil down, Eagle turned and looked out the window. The December sky was gray and a few snowflakes drifted by her wall of glass. Ten stories tall, and looking out over a valley high in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, the Knight’s Keep was the home of the Dragonslayers. Originally supposed to be an intelligence-gathering post and hideaway for top military officers, the Keep fell under the control of the team after Eagle battled Admiral Westland and the Joint Sub- Committee. After winning approval for the team, Westland was furious and swore she’d fail. He set in motion a series of events that were supposed to ensure her failure. When she didn’t, he tried his best to sabotage her in other ways.

It wasn’t often Eagle was unhappy, but since the unit’s change of command, nothing seemed to be going right. Nearly every day she received a phone call or email from the admiral requesting another task be added to their training schedule. She got the distinct feeling they were being micro-managed, and she resented it. The rest of the team felt the pressure as well. They understood her pain and did their best to support her.

Turning back to her work, she picked up her pencil and continued signing off tasks. What made it worse, she also had to duplicate the records in a computer database. Waste of time; she thought as she rubbed her face and ran her fingers through her paper-white bangs. How could the military ever get anything accomplished running like this? There must be an easier way. Eagle tried to stay focused but it wasn’t working. Her mind wandered with thoughts of her impending marriage. A few more months away—if we all live that long, she thought, staring at the heavy, dark, oak door leading to the hallway. She wanted the door to magically open and D.M. to walk in, rescuing her from the horrors of paperwork. She got her wish.

Hello, my love, Major D.M. Elliott said as he strolled into her office. His six-foot-six and nearly three hundred pounds filled the doorway.

Thank God, my hero! she cried.

He stopped dead, his dark brown eyes meeting hers. What’s this all about? He gestured; a robotic prosthesis was strapped over his left shoulder and arm. After suffering a horrific injury their first mission out, D.M. lost the use of his arm. Putting his mind to work, and drawing off his Master’s in chemical engineering and robotics from MIT, he’d built a robotic arm so he could stay on the team.

Eagle got up and hurried to him. I needed someone to rescue me from the paperwork dragon. She put her hands on his broad chest, looking up at him with bright blue eyes.

D.M. chuckled, leaned down, and kissed the top of her golden blonde head. Well then, my love, consider yourself rescued. Wanna go down to the training floor and take a bit of that frustration out on me?

I’d rather take it out on the admiral. I don’t like him.

He wrapped his arms around her. I know you don’t. We’re just gonna have to suck it up and deal with him. How goes the training records? He reached up with his left hand and gently touched her face. It felt so good to feel her skin: soft, creamy, and very pale. He was glad he’d created artificial touch for his arm; now he could feel things that had only been memories.

Almost done. I’m rather glad I saved all the training schedules on my computer. That made it easier.

Who needs to sign off? He gently rubbed her back.

Umm, I think only Cabbott is left. And I plan on getting his done by tomorrow morning. His record’s really busted my ass. He’s got so many qualifications I’ve had to build entirely new sections for his record.

D.M. let his grasp slide down and pat her behind. Well, your ass seems just fine, so you must not be busting it that hard! Eagle laughed. When does the admiral arrive? he asked.

Tomorrow afternoon, she said with disgust.

D.M. walked over to the window. You think he’ll grant us any leave for Christmas?

I hope so; would be nice to go somewhere for once. She looked up and noticed his raven black hair was showing more gray. The stress of the last few years took its toll on all of them. The major had a white scar on his left temple from a bullet crease he’d gotten on a mission. Now he showed the effects of their hazardous occupation, and he’d be turning thirty-seven in a few days.

You going home to Norway? he asked. Eagle was Norwegian by birth and came to the U.S. at age ten. Her lineage traced back over one thousand years ago to King Olaf Tryggvesson. She was the last hope her small clan in the north of Norway had to seat a noble to the throne. Her chances were slim, but she followed the customs set down by her people just in case. Although only three years older than D.M., she refused to tell anyone her age. They’d found out the date of her birthday, but that was all.

I dunno. You going home?

My home is here with you, he said softly.

She put her arm around him. Your home is Spain.

And the family I have there can’t acknowledge me.

Mmm, true. Being royalty can be such a pain.

He chuckled, Speak for yourself! He nudged her playfully. My Viking princess.

Eagle poked him in the stomach. And what am I to do with you, my bastard Prince of Spain?

Love me forever? He took her back in his arms. Eagle studied genetics in hopes of finding a husband of royal blood. One night, D.M. insisted she draw his blood, as much as he loved her, he wanted to make sure he wasn’t the one. When the results came back, she discovered who he thought was his father, wasn’t; instead, he was the illegitimate son of the King of Spain.

The door opened and Jake walked in. Not interrupting anything, am I?

No, Lieutenant, we were just discussing Christmas, Eagle replied, letting go of the major. Jake joined them at the window. He was the youngest, at twenty-five, and the smallest man on the team at five-foot-eight, just two inches taller than Eagle. Over the long summer the team spent lots of time at home, so they’d worked out heavily, and most put on ten to twenty pounds in lean muscle. Jake went from one-sixty-five when he joined the team to one-hundred-eighty pounds. He had dark brown hair and hazel green eyes, and because of his size, it seemed to give him a feisty attitude. The lieutenant had a jaded past mixed with drugs, gangs, and crime.

We gonna get leave? he asked.

I hope so. Just pray the admiral’s satisfied with the records I’ve created.

If we do get leave, can I go home? Jake said.

D.M. looked down at him. Home to Atlantic City?

Yeah, my dad isn’t doing well. Mom says his Alzheimer’s is getting really bad.

Sorry to hear that, Jake. If you need anything, please let me know, Eagle said as she walked back to her desk.

Jake turned to D.M. Oh, I almost forgot—

Gee, why does that not surprise me? D.M. joked, making light of the lieutenant’s traumatic brain injury problem, and that he tended to forget things on occasion.

Jake smacked him on the arm. Not funny…I came up here to see if you wanted to practice with Cap. He’s been on the training floor messing around with a sword.

He has, huh?

Yeah, he seems pretty serious about it.

D.M. rubbed his chin. He loved practicing with the sword. Eagle happened to be his only opponent; so his practice time was limited to her free time and endurance. The captain was a larger, stronger opponent who showed promise. His perfectionist work ethic meant he trained until he got it right.

You wanna go play, Major? she said.

Can I?

Sure. Give the good captain a thorough workout. I’ll be down in a few.

The sixth floor of the Keep housed the combat training area. It was divided into various sections for hand-to-hand and weapons training. Captain Tige St. Ivor stood off to one side practicing with a meteor hammer, a ten-ounce steel ball attached to a ten foot rope. He’d been introduced to the weapon by Captain Cabbott Westmoreland, who’d spent much of his military career as a sniper and assassin. After a terrible accident nearly killed him, Cabbott was on his way out of the military when Eagle recruited him. After numerous surgeries to put his whole lower body, back, and pelvis together, he became an unwitting Christmas present for Tige.

Originally, Tige came from the Australian Special Air Service Regiment. And being the fourth ranked sniper in the world, he was on his way to train with Cabbott. After arriving in the U.S., he got into an altercation, landing him in prison. Westland sent Tige to sabotage the team. It turned out, he proved to be one of the most valuable assets in their early days. He wasn’t an overly large man, about five-foot-ten, and almost two hundred pounds. Besides his strong Aussie accent, Tige blended in well with average society. His medium brown hair and blue-green eyes hid the fact that he’d killed over sixty men. He was the oldest on the team at age forty-three.

Lieutenant Max Hauer sat on a workbench watching Cabbott practice. The captain had gone through the cabinets and found yet another sword to practice with—a Japanese Katana. He wanted to find just the right sword he felt comfortable with, not too heavy, and easy to maneuver.

You trying another one? Max asked.

Gotta find one I’m happy with, he replied. Cabbott was one of the larger members of the team. At six-foot-two and close to two hundred and fifty pounds, his lethality remained undisputed. His brown eyes were normally quite placid, but when enraged, they turned a fiery reddish-brown. He had dark brown hair that was nearly black. With a call sign of Angel, he was anything but. Cabbott claimed over 160 kills in his career. Taking the life of a human seemed as easy as breathing for him. He’d gotten the nickname Cap from Jake, since there were two captains and it’d be easier to distinguish between them in training. He fell in the middle of the road as far as age at thirty-six.

How’s that one? Max asked. He was two inches shorter than Cabbott, had dark sandy brown hair, green eyes and weighed close to two hundred and ten pounds. His original Army MOS was interpreter; being fluent in seven different languages proved handy. He’d served the team well, helping Cabbott interrogate terrorists. At age forty-one, he was the second oldest on the team. He’d grown his mustache back, and with as much ribbing as he’d gotten from everyone, almost shaved it off again. Deciding to be spiteful, he kept it.

Mmm, I kinda like it, Cabbott said as he slowly swung the sword. He’d stripped out of his IGU blouse, leaving his black t-shirt. The In Garrison Uniform the team wore while at home was a simple medium gray version of the Battle Dress Uniform which had been worn by most of the services for nearly thirty years. It was comfortable, durable, and usually covered in mud. The men jokingly called them Dirty Grays.

The elevator door opened, D.M. and Jake walked out. They stopped at the workbench by Max. The major unbuckled the harness that held his robotic arm and wiggled out of it. He took off his blouse. Rather than having a t-shirt, he’d found wearing a tank top more comfortable since there were no sleeves to bunch up inside. Grabbing the arm, he pulled it back on, and buckled the straps. Jake opened a cabinet and retrieved the major’s practice sword.

Not that one, Jake. I have to use a lighter one. Cap’s not quite ready for my regular weight, D.M. said, stretching his arms over his head.

Which one then?

The one with the red leather handle.

Jake pulled out another sword. This one?

Yup.

He waved it in the air. Gee, Maj, kinda light for you.

Yeah, I know. He took the sword from Jake. I’d knock Cap on his ass if I used the heavy one. And get my jerkin, will ya?

The lieutenant opened another cabinet and pulled out a leather jerkin: a rather medieval- looking garment worn to protect from sword slashes. He helped D.M. into it, buckling the straps on the back. Jake found another large jerkin and handed it to Cabbott. You know how Eagle is about injuries.

Thanks. He set his sword down and climbed into it.

The lieutenant buckled the straps and gave him a hearty pat on the back. He went over and hopped up next to Max. You ever see these two fight?

A couple of times, Max replied.

D.M. and Cabbott stepped to the middle of the floor and squared off. The major normally sparred with Eagle, who was right-handed. Cabbott was a leftie, like him, so it took time to get used to having the sword come from a different angle. Ready, Cap?

Yes, sir. I’m all warmed up. He tipped his sword forward and touched it against the major’s. In an instant, they were slashing and blocking each other’s attacks. Eagle arrived and sat next to Jake.

"Ah, nice to not be on the other end of the sword for once," she sighed.

I can’t imagine how you trained him. He’s so strong. He must’ve worn you out every time, Jake replied.

Not always. Once he learned control and technique, he was much easier to spar with. She watched with interest as the two men went back and forth on offense and defense. The captain seemed to be holding his own. After a few minutes of intense fighting, Cabbott held up his hand.

You tired already? D.M. said as he disengaged.

Yeah. I’ve been practicing, but it’s much harder when actually fighting someone.

Take a break then, the major replied as he walked in a small circle trying to cool off. Cabbott went to the bench and grabbed his bottle of water.

Cap? Can I have a word with you? Eagle whispered.

Yes, ma’am?

She motioned for him to come close. I need you to do me a favor, please.

What? He took a long drink.

I need D.M. worked a lot with the sword.

He scratched his head. Huh?

She grabbed his shirt and pulled him even closer. The major doesn’t realize it, but when we get married, he’s gonna have to fight for me. He needs to be in shape.

Right, I understand. I’ll do all I can to help.

Thank you, Cap, I appreciate it.

He stepped back and smiled. Besides, I’m enjoying learning, and it’s a good workout. Taking another drink of water, he headed back out to face the major.

Lieutenant Sam Waters joined the group. He’d been watching Tige working with the meteor hammer. They were partnered up; Tige was the shooter, Sam, the spotter. Although he started out his military career in the Navy as an Independent Duty Corpsman, they changed his job to Explosive Ordinance Disposal, a job he hated. Standing an inch shorter than Tige, he had light, almost sandy brown hair and blue eyes. Sam had a similar build to his partner and weighed nearly the same. He was a few years younger than his teammate, at age thirty-five. They got along reasonably well, although Sam turned out not to be the best of spotters. Damn, they’re really going at it, huh? he said, sitting next to Max.

Cap has a knack for learning weapons, Jake said.

You don’t know the half of it, Max replied. When we’re done for the day, and finished with dinner, he often comes back down to practice. And he’ll go for another hour or two before heading to bed.

If he even sleeps, Eagle said as she watched.

Actually, he said he’s been doing a bit better since Dr. Miles and Major Lindman stuck him on the medication.

That’s good…I felt bad I made him get seen, but he couldn’t keep control, and he’d become dangerous if he was left too long.

Jake rubbed his jaw. I know how that goes. He’d been on the receiving end of one of Cabbott’s angry streaks, taking a vicious punch to the mouth.

Eagle patted Jake on the shoulder. Well, now that he’s got Cara in his life, I think he’ll settle down some.

God, I hope so. His PTSD’s so bad I wonder how she handles him.

He said she suffers too, although not quite as bad.

Jake hopped off the bench. Oh, well, that’s just lovely. I’m sure they make a happy couple. Just one big post traumatic nightmare after another.

D.M. awoke in the middle of the night drenched in sweat. Another nightmare. He sat up and turned on the light, looking at the clock—0200. He’d been having a hard time sleeping since the change of command. The whole team was stressed out, especially Eagle. And when she got stressed, so did he. Reaching over, he grabbed his arm and pulled it on. He got out of bed, fixed his loose boxer shorts, and trudged next door to her room. Eagle? he said softly.

D.M.? What’s wrong?

He crawled up on the bed. Nightmare.

Come on, she said, pulling back the covers.

Sorry it’s late. I tried to fight it, and couldn’t win.

Mmm, that’s okay. I couldn’t sleep either.

Have a nightmare too? He took off his arm, laid it on the floor and got under the covers.

Not tonight. Just couldn’t sleep.

He snuggled up against her. Worried about tomorrow, and what the admiral will think?

Badly.

Don’t think he’s another Westland trying to do us in?

No. General Spears’d never turn us over to someone like that. As upset as I am, I have to trust he did us right.

Have you talked to him lately?

Couple of days ago.

And you told him how you felt?

I didn’t wanna burden him with it. He’s got other things going on in his life, and I’m supposed to be a big girl—able to handle my own problems.

He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. Like he said, you have a fiancé to talk to. I’ll be here for you.

She wiggled until she was quite close to him. You better. I may be a strong woman, but you’re an even stronger man; I appreciate your support.

And my strong arms, huh? Wasn’t easy carrying you through the jungle like that.

Wasn’t my idea to get shot down. I was so glad you came and rescued me. She put her hand on his leg.

He nuzzled her neck. Even though we’re not yet married…we are one.

Just a few more months, and we can become one. They drifted off to sleep, comfortable in each other’s arms.

An hour later D.M. awoke violently. He scrambled out of bed, turned the light on, and stood with his hand on his right side.

D.M., are you okay? She noticed he appeared visibly shaken.

He looked down at his side. Hell, what a vivid dream… I swore I’d been shot.

Shot? Did you have your armor on?

I was in battle, so I must have. But I felt it, I could feel the blood, the burning pain, it was so real. He walked around the bedroom.

Have you been having a lot of these dreams?

No, not like that. Most are either things in the past, or ones that don’t make any sense. That one made sense, painfully so.

Come back to bed, let’s try this again.

He crawled back in and turned the light off. D.M. prayed there would be no more nightmares like that.

CHAPTER TWO

Good morning, my love, D.M. said as he rolled over on his side and gently touched her shoulder.

Eagle stretched and yawned, Morning.

You sleep okay?

Yeah, how about you? She rolled over to face him.

Better. Think I finally got the nightmare out of my head. He struggled and sat up in bed. What time was Admiral Connors coming?

His last email said about 1400.

You get everything done?

Eagle climbed out of bed. I still need to grab Cap for a couple more initials on his record.

D.M. reached over and grabbed his robotic arm, pulling it on. Oh, I guess I’ll head back over and get ready. Another friggin’ Monday.

She laughed lightly and climbed back on the bed, giving him a kiss on the cheek. See you at breakfast.

D.M. headed back to his room. He didn’t bother to wear much besides his boxers since his room was right next-door, and the rest of the team could care less. He got about three steps toward his room when he stopped dead. The admiral was there—early.

I had a feeling something was going on between you two, the coarse voice of Admiral Connors said as he stood in the hallway. You know that’s against regulations, Major. D.M. froze, too shocked to say anything. I want you and Colonel Tryggvesson in her office in half an hour.

Yes, sir, D.M. said, his voice coming more like a croak. Oh, not good. He hurried to his room and grabbed the phone, dialing Eagle. We’re busted.

What do you mean? she said.

I just got caught in the hall by Admiral Connors.

What?! He was supposed to be here this afternoon. I didn’t hear any helicopter land. Why didn’t Frank let us know he was coming early?

Frank’s TDY to NORAD for two weeks, he said, hurriedly trying to get his razor blade changed.

Shit!

The admiral wants us in your office in half an hour.

I’m banking we’re gonna lose any brownie points we may have had, she said, hanging up.

Fifteen minutes later Eagle and D.M. walked into her office. Admiral Connors looked out the wall of glass. He was a tall, thin man with sharp features, gray hair, and dressed in NWUs that looked stiff and starched. Colonel, do I have to remind you about the military’s stand on unprofessional relationships?

There’s nothing unprofessional about it, D.M. said.

Major, you will speak when spoken to, Admiral Connors replied harshly.

D.M. clenched his jaw so hard he thought his teeth would break. Eagle stepped forward; it was ultimately her responsibility for their relationship. Like the major said: ‘There’s nothing unprofessional.’

I don’t see it that way. Your relationship is detrimental to morale and good order. That’s an offense under UCMJ article ninety-two.

Detrimental to morale? I don’t see how, sir, she said.

Do you not create an image of impropriety, Colonel? Are you not showing him favoritism?

No, sir.

And how can you say that? He walked over to her.

I expect Major Elliott to carry out all tasks and training required of the team. If anything, I’m harder on him than the others because he’s second-in-command.

You expect me to believe this? he scoffed.

Our relationship doesn’t interfere with what goes on in the team. We work very hard to keep it separate.

Do the other team members know you have a relationship?

Yes, sir; and they’re fine with it.

D.M. reached in his pocket, quietly slipping out his phone; with one hand, he texted Jake to rally the troops to the office. He hoped this would aid in their defense.

Colonel, I find it hard to believe this team thinks your relationship with the major is acceptable.

They support our engagement, she replied.

"Engagement?"

D.M. decided he’d had enough. Yes, sir, we’re engaged. The door opened and the rest of the team came in. The cavalry had arrived. They filed in, standing behind Eagle.

Colonel, who ordered these men in here? the admiral demanded.

I did, Admiral, D.M. said.

You’re out of line, Major!

D.M. said nothing. Eagle turned to the rest of the men. Do any of you have a problem with the major and I being engaged? All shook their heads. Do I give the impression of favoritism to the major? Again, all shook their heads.

Colonel, I think these men are just following orders to agree with you.

No, sir, we are not, Jake said firmly. We’re loyal to Colonel Tryggvesson and Major Elliott. Their relationship has done nothing but strengthen our team.

The admiral walked behind Eagle and looked over the men. All glared at him with hatred in their eyes. Once he was satisfied, he stopped in front of her. I order you to terminate your relationship with Major Elliott, or face punishment.

Eagle locked eyes with the admiral. No. She reached up, unbuttoned her blouse, and took it off. She held it up for him to see, and then dropped it at his feet. I resign my commission. She stormed out of the office. D.M. approached the admiral. Rather than fighting to take off his blouse, he took out his ID card, held it up, and then dropped it on top of her blouse. We are all one. He walked out. One by one the others passed, took off their blouses, dropped them, and left. The last one in line was Cabbott.

Captain, you know we can find another team for you, the admiral said.

Cabbott stared at the admiral, took off his blouse and dropped it on the pile. I’m happy here. He left. Heading down the hall, he knew everyone would end up in the rec room. Opening the door, he found the entire team gathered around Eagle. D.M. held her in his arms; she was crying. He’d never seen her so upset.

Jake grabbed a beer from the refrigerator. It was only 0630, but he didn’t care. Well, what are we gonna do now?

I guess start packing, Sam said.

Eagle slid her grasp from D.M. God, it’s over just like that. She sat down in one of the recliners, putting her head in her hands. Everything they’d worked for was gone in the blink of an eye. There was only so much she would tolerate, and the way Admiral Connors treated them, it pushed her over the edge.

Cabbott opened the refrigerator. Well, we got all this good beer in here; we’d better not let it go to waste. He grabbed one and popped the cap off. The others filed over and the captain passed out the beer. D.M. sat down next to Eagle. He put his hand on hers trying to give her some sort of comfort.

Admiral Connors walked into the rec room. He carried Eagle’s blouse. No one stood for him; as far as they were concerned, they were no longer military. In the span of just over half an hour, the team realized their lives were changed forever.

You know, you could be charged for mutiny or sedition, the admiral said.

We didn’t mutiny, and there’s no sedition here, Tige replied. We quit.

The admiral walked over to Eagle. He looked down and saw Jake kneeling in front of her, his hands on her knees, trying to comfort her as well. It appeared the team was very close. Colonel—

My name is Eagle, she said solemnly, not even looking up at him.

I just got off the phone with General Spears. He did his best to explain how this unit functions. It seems your rather unorthodox team has quite a record of meritorious service. According to what he said, all of you should be highly decorated—

We were just doing our job, Jake said. We don’t need medals and stuff to tell us that.

Perhaps not, Lieutenant, he paused, gathering his thoughts. I might have been too hasty in judging the unit…I feel your continued service is warranted in this command. He reached out and offered her blouse back to her.

Sam leaned over to Tige. You think that might have been an apology?

Maybe so, mate.

Eagle looked up at him but didn’t immediately take her blouse. She was still quite upset. The rest of the team waited silently, praying she would take it. They were a family and should stay together; it was what needed to be done.

Colonel, I understand how you feel. After talking to General Spears, he was kind enough to explain about your relationship with the major…Personally, I do not approve of the relationship, but as long as it does not interfere with your duties or the morale of the team, then you may continue it. His words came in a pained tone.

Jake stood and walked over to Cabbott and Max. Eagle slowly rose and faced the admiral. She held her arms at her sides. Looking at each member of the team, she knew what she had to do. The thoughts of what General Spears told her about commanders ran through her head. No, she didn’t like Admiral Connors one bit, but he was in charge of them now, and if she wanted to continue the team, she had to deal with him.

She regarded him with suspicion. The admiral looked back at her, his expression softened somewhat. Eagle took in a deep breath and held her hand out. Admiral Connors placed the blouse in her hand; the team let out a thunderous cheer.

Well, Colonel, it appears you have amazing control over your team, the admiral said as he turned to leave. I still need to see you in your office, please.

Yes, Admiral, she replied, still leery over the whole situation. She was rather surprised that he’d said please to her, not just ordered her around. As the door closed, the team rushed up and gave her hugs. They were happy to stay here and be together. Eagle put her blouse on and headed for her office. D.M. stayed right with her. He wasn’t about to let the admiral intimidate her again.

Eagle opened the office door, D.M. trailed in behind her. The admiral saw both of them, but said nothing to the fact. It seemed that D.M. was a bigger part of her life than he’d thought.

Colonel, I’d like to review your training records and PT test results.

Yes, sir. She stepped behind her desk. I must apologize that Captain Westmoreland’s record is not completely signed off. I was going to do that after breakfast.

That’s fine, as long as you finish it.

She pulled the training records out of a drawer and handed them to D.M., who quickly put them in order, handing him Jake’s record. He flipped through it and handed it back. D.M. offered his record next. The admiral went through all the records and was satisfied. And how about the PT test scores?

Well, sir, we haven’t ever had a standard PT test, so we got together and figured out one that was demonstrative of our abilities…I’ve put the scores on a spread sheet…We only have one test, and we flew down to Reno to do it. She handed a page over to him.

The admiral studied it. Colonel, these run times are deplorable. I thought you said they were mission ready?

I think they’re pretty good, D.M. said, hoping he wouldn’t be put in his place again.

Sir, I agree with the major. I thought they were very good run times for five miles.

Five miles? he said in disbelief.

Yes, sir. We thought it was a good representation of the rigors of our job. Over the last year we’ve tromped through kilometers of dense jungle, climbed peaks nearly ten thousand feet, and spent days on patrol. Endurance is paramount in this occupation.

And I see that there is no age differentiation on this.

Sir, we all have to be capable of doing the same job, D.M. said. We only spotted the colonel twenty push-ups and pull-ups because she’s a lady.

And I argued with them on that. I’ve been working hard on getting stronger, she added.

Admiral Connors handed the chart back to her. All right, I can live with what you’ve put together.

Eagle let out a rather audible sigh. D.M. looked at her and smiled. He shared in her relief that everything went well with the inspection. Umm, Admiral? she said softly.

Yes?

I was wondering about Christmas leave?

Just how long were you wanting?

Uh, perhaps ten days or so? None of us have been away from the Keep in quite a while. Some of the men have families they’d like to see.

The admiral walked over to the window. He wasn’t keen on the idea, but it was obvious the team worked hard and should be rewarded for it. All right, I’ll grant the team a sixteen day stand down. Leave can be approved for up to fourteen days.

Thank you, sir. We appreciate it.

At lunch that day the team gathered; all were silent. Admiral Connors decided he wanted to stay and see some of their training. He had to admit, they were well trained and highly capable of performing their missions. As they ate lunch there was little conversation. They were still too worried about their situation. Eagle reassured them things would be all right, but they were still careful about what they said around the admiral.

Eagle looked past D.M. Lieutenant?

Yes, ma’am? Jake replied, leaning forward to make eye contact with her.

Would you be so kind as to take the admiral up for a Badger flight after lunch? She gave him a quick wink.

Jake knew exactly what that meant. The Badger was their two-seat attack helicopter. The lieutenant was the undisputed king when it came to flying the craft. His previous job was a crew chief for Apaches, but he’d managed to work deals with the pilots in trade for flying lessons. He’d proven more than capable of delivering a gut-wrenching ride to anyone who dared. Oh, yes, ma’am, certainly, he replied, a devilish grin on his face.

D.M. glanced back and forth at them, sensing the shenanigans going on. He almost wished he could see what the admiral would be going through. It was bad enough he needed to take motion sickness pills when he flew with Jake, something about him and that helicopter that clicked, and he became truly one with it.

The Badger, that’s your attack helicopter, right? the admiral said, wiping his face with a napkin.

Yes, sir, it is. Lieutenant Collins is my best pilot in the airframe, she replied. She felt D.M. gently nudge her with his hand under the table. And sir, if you have time, I’ll have Major Elliott take you up in a Wolverine.

Your fighter plane?

Correct. Although they tend to fill more of a reconnaissance role than actually dog fighting, but they certainly can, we’ve proven that.

I look forward to it. I did some time flying back in the day before going Spec Ops.

Well then, I’m sure you’ll enjoy the experience. She glanced over at D.M. and saw him trying to hide a smile. Paybacks were a bitch.

Jake hovered the Badger over the landing pad next to the runway. The helicopter was small and completely black with the cockpits arranged in line. It had stub wings angled back allowing for multiple types of weapons to be mounted. In the front cockpit he could hear the admiral groan in discomfort. The lieutenant was glad he made sure there were extra airsickness bags; the admiral filled two. Gently setting the Badger down, he shut off the engines. Have a good flight, Admiral? he said, trying to stifle a laugh.

My God, I’ve never been that sick in my life.

Yeah, I have that effect on most, Jake said as he popped open his cockpit. He unbuckled and hopped out.

She did that on purpose, didn’t she? Getting even for the way I treated her.

Not my place to say, sir. He saw D.M. coming up with the Wolverine. The aircraft were kept in underground hangars away from the prying eyes of satellites. Accessed through underground tunnels, they also protected them from the harsh regional weather. Each craft came up on an elevator system from its hangar. The Wolverine was another all black aircraft. It sat low, almost crouching on its landing gear. The front of the plane somewhat resembled an SR-71 Blackbird. The rest looked like a combination of an F-14 Tomcat and the F-117 Stealth Fighter. The variable sweep wings gave the plane incredible maneuverability at high speed. On one mission, D.M. pushed the envelope of the craft and found he could get it to Mach 3.5, faster than it had ever been flown.

The rotors finally stopped spinning. Jake decided to be polite and help the admiral out.

Uh, Lieutenant? I’m sorry about the airsick bags.

I’ll take care of ’em, sir. I have to get her checked and refueled anyways. He pointed to D.M. The major is waiting for you, sir.

At least I don’t have anything left in my stomach. I’m sure he’ll give me one helluva ride as well.

Jake laughed lightly. We take turns seeing who can make the other more sick.

Who usually wins?

I do, every time.

The admiral left shortly before dinner. Everyone gathered in the dining room. Eagle went to her office and brought back four bottles of wine. They were all in high spirits. Despite how badly the day started, they’d shown the admiral their skills and sent him home confident they could do whatever job was asked of them.

Seriously?! D.M. laughed.

Yeah man, filled up both barf bags, Jake said.

Is that a new record? Max asked.

Jake grabbed one of the bottles and poured himself a drink. I do believe so!

They laughed. Eagle came out of the kitchen and went to take her seat. All stood and waited for her. They were happy to be together.

As you were, gentlemen, she said, settling into her chair. They took their seats, the chattering continued. So, I hear the admiral had a couple of wild rides, huh?

Yes, ma’am! Jake bellowed. Two barf bags full!

Ah, ah, Jake, that wasn’t all, D.M. said. He filled up half of one on me!

Everyone laughed. I guess the admiral shouldn’t have had spaghetti for lunch, huh? Cabbott joked. The laughter continued. Bottles of wine were passed around and glasses filled. Perhaps life could get back to normal now.

It was the fourteenth of December, the day before D.M.’s birthday. He now understood why Eagle kept her actual age a secret: it sucked to get old. He’d found out her birthday by accident when General Spears made a surprise visit and spilled the truth. Now, it was his turn, and he really wasn’t looking forward to it.

He sat in the dining room reading a book. It was close to dinner and the others had not come in. He glanced out the window to see the snow coming down in big flakes. Snow and cold were not his friends. The door opened and Cabbott hurried in. You gotta see this, Major, he said as he grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. Quickly changing the channel, he motioned to it. That your father?

D.M. put down the book and looked up. The TV showed a reporter in Madrid discussing an assassination attempt on the king. What the hell? the major said in disbelief. The king was wounded; several of his aides were killed.

Cabbott leaned against the table. From what I got, there’s a terror group called the ‘Free Spanish Brotherhood’ and they want the king deposed.

The major sighed; nothing he could do. He was not truly a member of that family; he meant nothing to them. His secret visit to the king on his last birthday made the monarch aware of his existence, but he knew the relationship could go no further. D.M. was not interested in a title, wealth, or prestige; he was quite happy here with the team and his bride-to-be.

That doesn’t sound too good, sir, Cabbott said as he walked over to the window.

Nothing I can do about it.

You’d let your father get assassinated?

"He may be my father, but I have no official ties to him. He knows about me. I’m not in any position to help, unfortunately."

Cabbott turned around. That sucks.

D.M. sighed loudly. Yes it does…I wish I could know him better.

Jake sat in the lab tinkering with an idea. The base was equipped with research laboratories on the fifth floor. D.M., being the consummate scientist, secured the use of a large lab for research. Long ago he’d dreamed of creating bulletproof plastic armor. Through trial and error and one large explosion, he’d made the breakthrough that led to the development of a working suit of armor. It protected the wearer from small arms fire. On one mission, the armor even sucked up a hit from a fifty-caliber round. The unfortunate target, Tige, suffered a broken clavicle; far less than the injury he would’ve sustained had he not been wearing the armor. It was a force multiplier for the team, as it gave them an edge in combat. Jake improved upon the armor by adding nanos to the plastic. After much experimentation, he got the nanos to interface with a small computer, and they could change colors to closely match their surroundings. The team could easily camouflage themselves into almost any environment.

The lieutenant worked on the laptop, a piece of paper lay next to him where he sketched. He played with an idea he’d had for a while. Taking a pencil, he made some drawings of a camouflaged cloak which would be used to help the snipers conceal their presence. He looked at his watch and saw it was getting late. Even though things settled down from the change of command, he still had trouble sleeping sometimes. He fought the same battles the rest of the team did with post-traumatic stress. Some days were better than others; most nights turned out to be a mental repeat of all the bad things that happened to him over the years. He wondered if he’d ever be the same. His life was completely different now, and as much pain as it caused him, he loved it.

D.M. wandered in, another casualty of a night of bad dreams. Hey, he said lazily.

Can’t sleep either, huh? Jake said.

Worried.

The lieutenant put his drawings away. About what?

My father.

The King?

D.M. sat down next to him. Yeah. Cap showed me something on TV. There’s a terror group in Spain that just tried to assassinate him.

Mmm, saw that on the headlines when I was getting online earlier. Good thing he wasn’t hurt badly.

The major looked at the laptop screen. What are you working on?

Nothing, Jake replied smugly.

Shit, you really have been hanging around me too long, he said, walking around the lab.

Hey, you should consider that a compliment.

How so?

Jake closed out the program. Because you took this juvenile delinquent which had no hope for a decent life after the military and made me into something.

You were given to me as a pet project.

Yeah, I know. Eagle told me one day. She hoped hanging out with you would help me grow up. He stood. I guess her little experiment succeeded.

D.M. walked back and rested his arms on the long black granite counter. I guess so. You’ve got a successful invention under your belt, and have your life in order.

Jake’s cell phone buzzed indicating he had a text. Monica? D.M. asked.

Yeah. Surprised she’s up this late.

How are you guys getting along?

As good as we can considering she’s in Houston and I’m here, Jake replied.

I’m impressed you’ve made a go of it this long. You gonna see her anytime soon?

I was hoping to get a day or so with her over Christmas, but mom is really stressed out with dad, so I guess I’ll be spending all my time at home.

Maybe Eagle will cut you some leave another time.

I’d like that.

Max was brushing his teeth when his cell phone rang. He looked at the number and realized Abiodun might be calling. It was close to 2200 and he wondered why the little guy would be up so late. He’d met the boy when the team deployed on a mission to Sudan. They were using an orphanage as their staging base and somehow the boy decided to befriend Max. They’d formed a friendship, and when the team returned home, the lieutenant just couldn’t stop thinking about him. The boy saw his parents killed while in a refugee camp in Darfur. He and his older sister were brought to the orphanage south of Khartoum. Then he’d seen his sister raped and killed when they went into the small village one day.

Hello? Hang on, Max said, his mouth still full of toothpaste. He remembered one time Abiodun called in the middle of the night, and Max was too generous with the profanity before being coherent enough to realize who it was. He spit out his mouthful and put the phone on speaker.

Hi, Mr. Max.

Hey, kiddo, it’s late. What are you still doing up? Max adopted the boy, and because he had no living relatives, he asked his friends Martin and Shereece Nmkimway if they wanted to bring him into their family because they’d been unable to have children. Martin was an army sergeant Max met in language school. They’d been friends for several years.

Are you coming to Dis-ney World for Christ-mas? he said, having trouble with the words since they were relatively new to him.

I wish I could, kiddo.

You have to work?

No, I don’t have to work.

Then you come with us. It be fun.

Max was silent for a moment. He wanted to go, he really did, but he realized how post-traumatic affected him: he was becoming afraid of large crowds. How could he explain this to the boy?

Abiodun?

Yeah?

You know my job is dangerous? And I can get hurt?

You not hurt, are you? Aboidun said with concern.

Not hurt like you think…You still have bad dreams?

Sometimes. Not so bad now, thanks to you.

Remember I told you I have lots of bad dreams? Max said. He was trying to explain it the best he could

Yeah.

Well, sometimes those bad dreams happen during the day. And they happen lots when I’m out in a big crowd. I don’t wanna go out, have a bad dream, and hurt someone.

You not coming? the boy sounded dejected.

Not for that. But I promise I’ll come see you when you get back. I got you a really cool Christmas present.

I think I like this Christmas. I like to get pre-sents.

Max chuckled. I’m sure you do.

We not have that in Islam.

No, that’s a Christian holiday. But you enjoy it anyways…You have a good time with Mr. Mart and Ms. Shereece and I’ll see you when you get back, okay?

A loud sigh came from the other end. Max almost laughed. He knew it wasn’t what Abiodun wanted, but he’d have to live with it. Oh, okay, Mr. Max. I miss you.

I miss you too, kiddo. Now get to bed. You got school tomorrow.

Good night, Mr. Max. I hope you have happy dreams.

Good night, kiddo. I hope you do too. He hung up. Max felt horrible about not being able to go. He clearly understood the problems Cabbott faced. He just never thought he’d have the same level of difficulty as the captain. Their time in Afghanistan rooting out insurgents in the massive cave complexes affected him badly.

CHAPTER THREE

The team ate breakfast. There was little small talk going on. Most weren’t awake enough to be thinking straight. D.M.’s cell phone rang. Surprised, he grabbed it from his pocket and looked at the number. It wasn’t a familiar number, but he had a strange feeling. Hello? he said. Si, si, este es él…Sí, su majestad. He stood bolt upright and quickly left the room.

Eagle leaned down the table. Max, what did he say?

Huh? Uh, sorry, I was reading the paper. And I do my best not to eavesdrop when it doesn’t concern me.

Oh, you’re no help! Eagle huffed. She poured another cup of tea, stirring in her customary two spoonfuls of sugar.

Several minutes later D.M. returned, still on the phone. He chatted away in Spanish. Going to the bulletin board, he grabbed a pen and tore a piece of paper from a notepad hanging next to it. Holding the paper against the wall, he copied down a phone number and carefully repeated it. Preguntaré y veré si podemos ayudarle. Bueno adiós, su majestad. He hung up, and sat back down at the table. All eyes were on him.

And what was that all about? Eagle asked.

D.M. tried to hide a smile. My father.

The King? What on earth did he call you for? I thought you’d agreed not to cross paths again?

Yes, that was the agreement. But I also left my number should he ever need my help, he said.

And he requires your help? I find it highly unusual considering your arrangement.

"He needs our help—all of us. He seems to have a radical new terrorist group that’s wreaking havoc across the country."

He’s got an army; why doesn’t he bloody well solve the problem himself? Tige joined in.

Because he feels many members of his army are part of the group. He can’t find the source.

That does tend to throw a spanner in the works.

Spanner? D.M. replied. Even though they’d been together for a while, there was still the occasional language barrier with the Aussie.

He means a wrench, Jake said nonchalantly.

Oh, right, yes it does. He turned to Eagle. "Do you think you could get permission for us to help? I mean, it is the war on terror, and Spain’s one of our allies."

I’ll call the admiral and see if he can clear us for a mission. I’ll need more intel to give him though.

I can do that, but if you can just ask him for now.

She regarded him curiously. And funny, His Majesty should call you on your birthday.

D.M. grinned and blushed.

Eagle sat at the dining room table with a pen and paper. The team was settling down for dinner. All right, everyone, Admiral Connors wants to know who’s going where for Christmas break. She looked over at Jake. You’re going home to Atlantic City, right?

Yes, ma’am.

Eagle jotted the information down. Cap?

Uh, I guess I’ll go home to Vermont.

Not spending Christmas with Cara? she said.

"Unfortunately, no. She’s gotta work several days, and then she’s