SEALed With the Bodyguard

–Jax–

“The things a man’s gotta do to get a protein shake these days,” Jace grunt-mutters under his breath as he shifts the weight of the unconscious hostage on his shoulders.

Compared to the rest of us, Jace is a giant, but the man he’s carrying weighs at least 200 pounds—and that’s a lot of dead weight to run with.

The eight of us were about to leave for home after completing our mission in West Africa, when the platoon was redirected to Algiers. Five doctors from the Doctors Without Borders program were being held hostage by Eastern European terrorists. We were the closest, so the job to rescue them fell on us.

Infiltrating the terrorist base and locating the hostages was the easy part. Getting them safely out is proving to be a different story altogether. Negotiations had reached a stalemate, and the terrorists were threatening to start killing off the hostages. As a show of how serious they were, they shot one of the hostages in the knee. The wound got infected, and by the time we got there, the man was unconscious from the pain and fever.

The only way to get him out, is to carry him. And it’s slowing us down big time.

Jace double-steps as he adjusts his burden yet again.

Why did the damn terro’s have to go and pick the biggest guy of the lot to shoot anyway?

I call halt as we reach the exit point. “Gentlemen, we’re gonna have to split up if we want to get everyone out of here in one piece.”

Seven heads bob in agreement and Jace gently lowers the injured man to the ground.

“So here’s the POA.” I drop a glance to the pale, sweating hostage at my feet. “Bells and I will stay behind with Jace and the doc here.” I swivel my gaze to Shank, my 2IC. “Sleeping Beauty, you and the rest of the guys escort our able HVT’s to the pickup point. Once they’re in the air, you come back for us.”

“Your wish is my command, Cinderella.” Shank gives me an ironic grin as he adjusts his combat helmet. Then he turns and beckons the group to follow him. “Moving out. Let’s go!”

The sound of their footfall fades into the distance and the three of us settle into defensive positions for the wait. Each passing minute feels like an hour, and every sound represents a threat.

The hostage cries out in his delirium. Bells sinks down onto his haunches beside the man. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and soaks it with water from his hip flask. “Shh, dude. It’s okay. We’re gonna get you out of here,” he murmurs as he wipes the hostage’s fevered brow. He looks up at me. “That should cool him down a bit. Last thing we need is for him to go into a delirious fit.”

Before I can respond, Sal’s voice comes through my earpiece. “Good news is HVTs made it to hello. Bad news is landing zone is hot. I repeat, LZ is hot. Gotta secure the area before providing support. Hang in there as long as you can. Over.”

My shoulders drop. Shit. What else can go wrong? “Check. We’ll wait. Over.”

“Roger that. Out.” Sal’s voice is backdropped by the crackle of automatic fire.

I look at my two comrades-in-arms. All of us are wearing earpieces, so they heard the exchange between me and Sal. “Shittiest leg day ever, huh, guys?”

“Yup, the only good day was yesterday,” Jace unpacks the oldest SEAL quote from its box.

“There is nothing good or bad, but thinking makes it so,” Bells adds some Shakespearean wisdom in a fake British accent.

Before I can out-quote them, a movement behind us catches my eye. “Shit. We’ve got company.”

“Two tangos at our six.” Bells rumbles. He saw them the same moment that I did.

“Two more starboard side,” Jace fills in.

Shank’s voice comes through my earpiece. “Head for pickup zone B. We’re wrapping up here. Catch you at the halfway mark.”

“Roger that.” I turn to Jace. “Better get your package ready.”

“Uhuh,” Jace grunts. He’s already hoisting the hostage onto his shoulders.

“Bells, stay with Jace and his package. I’ll have your six. Head straight for pickup zone B. Keep going and don’t look back.” Bells gives me a silent nod as he picks up Jace’s automatic and shoulders it. Jace needs both hands to steady the heavy man on his back, and the gun will just be in his way. It’s crappy to have one man practically unarmed, but it is what it is.

“Go!” I shout-whisper the command.

I hang back for a couple of seconds to give them a chance to get ahead.

They’re just a couple of yards in front of me when Jace stumbles as his knees buckle under his burden. Icy fingers drag themselves along the insides of my lungs.

He recovers with a skillful double-step, and I’m breathing again.

Thump thump thump.

Three bullets eat tooth marks into the wall and dust peppers the side of my face. I try to blink the dirt out of my eyes as I glance over my shoulder to see where the shots came from.

“Truck with three guns just joined the party.”

The next series of thumps kick up dust where Bells and Jace’s boots touched the ground seconds ago. They spin around a corner and disappear out of sight.

“Keep moving! Gonna toss them some smoke.” In one smooth motion, I pluck a smoke grenade from behind my hip, bite the pin out and lob the missile in the direction of the advancing terrorists.

The smoke doesn’t deter the truck and I let go with two quick bursts toward the advancing vehicle. It swerves and drives into a concrete slab wall. The three men in the truckbed tumble forward but it doesn’t look like there’s any injuries.

“Truck’s out of commission but the passengers are just pissed.”

The tangos are fifty feet away and once they’ve got their bearings, they’ll be coming after us. At this point, our best defense is to keep going, so I grab another smoke grenade from my belt, pull the pin, and toss it behind me as I head after Bells and Jace.

I catch up with them on the last stretch toward the pickup zone. A quick glance over my shoulder tells me that it’s still clear behind me.

My heart dances a little jig.

Just a few more yards…

Then the world around me freeze-frames as my eyes follow the small projectile traveling through the air.

My voice is hoarse as I shout the warning, “Grenade! Get down!”

Too late. Dust kicks up as the grenade hits the ground right in front of Jace and Bells. It erupts into orange sparks and black smoke and they run right into the explosion.

I drop down and cover my ears with my hands. There is nothing I can do to shield myself from the almost inhuman screams that etch into my brain. Each of the earpieces we’re wearing has a built-in microphone sensitive enough to pick up a whisper. Those weren’t whispers.

I concentrate on my breathing and the frantic hammering inside my ribcage begins to subside. My gaze sweeps the area, searching for the person who launched the grenade.

I find him not more than 25 yards away where he lies on his stomach, his upper body raised on his elbows, and his eyes trained on the explosion.

There you are, you bastard!

With one smooth movement I raise my rifle to my eye, align the dot with his body, and pull the trigger.

The jolt of the weapon is satisfying as it releases a round from the chamber. The terrorist’s body jerks when the lead hits him. I keep pressing the trigger until the force of the bullets flips him onto his back.

My mind is a void as I shoulder my weapon and run toward the receding plume of smoke. I come to a stop at the shallow hole in the ground where the grenade detonated.

As members of SEAL Team Six, we each make an oath to leave no man behind, whether he is dead or alive. I will not be able to keep that oath this time, and it tears me up inside.

All the king’s horses and all the king’s men,

Couldn’t put them together again.

It’s like the real world is happening on the other side of a glass wall and the nursery rhyme becomes a mantra in my brain as I take in the carnage around me.

I hit my forehead with the heel of my hand and shake my head to make the mantra stop.

I must find their dog tags—at least I can take those home for them.

I find the first tag a few steps away. It’s lying face down in the sand near a boot with the foot still in it. My breath catches as I scoop it up and turn it over.

It’s Jace’s.

I palm the tag and hold my fist up to the sky. “Adios, Jace, my brother.”

“Adios, brother,” the voices of my surviving teammates echo in my earpiece.

As I drop the tag into my shirt pocket, something moves a couple of yards ahead.

Someone is alive!

I begin to run.

The flame of hope inside me sputters out and dies when I find Bells.

He’s lying in a crumpled heap in a shallow ditch where the force of the blast threw him. He’s in really bad shape and I’m almost too scared to touch him for fear that he’ll fall apart.

I crouch beside him. “Hey, bro. I’m here.”

His eyes find mine and he murmurs, “Take me home, bro.”

My voice rasps past the emotion that is threatening to close my throat. “Sure, bro. Hang in there. This might hurt a bit.”

I set my lips in a straight line as I haul the broken body of my friend over my shoulder, mentally blocking out his tortured screams.

The rest of the guys have managed to drive the terrorists back and the welcoming whup-whup-whup of helicopter blades drowns out the last stray gunshots. I reach the bird as it touches down. The door is already open and willing hands reach out to lift Bells from my shoulders.

I crawl in after him and seconds later, the rest of the team joins me. The gunner covers our ascent until we reach a safe height and the chopper swerves toward its destination. Then he slams the door shut and leans back against the side of the craft. He looks as weary as I feel.

The six of us sit in a circle around Bells where he lies on the floor of the chopper. He’s too weak to even cry out in pain. His body is shattered beyond repair. Raw groans rattle through his chest and foamy pink blood splotched with bright red pushes out of his mouth with every ragged breath.

There is nothing the medic can do for him except relieve his pain so that he can die in peace. He prepares a strong shot of morphine that will render Bells unconscious and holds it up so that Bells can see that it’s ready.

Bells opens and closes his mouth a few times as he strains to speak. We lean forward even though we can hear him through our earpieces. His voice comes out in a hoarse, rattling whisper. “The brotherhood—Two gone today—” His eyes fall shut and he drags air into his lungs with a ragged gasp.

My voice squeezes past the lump in my throat. “Talk to us, Bells.”

His eyelids flutter open again. His gaze is steady and his eyes are bright and clear. It’s like he’s looking into our souls. His voice trembles only slightly when he says, “Keep the pact. Promise me.”

I raise my hand first. “I promise.”

His eyes travel around the circle as Sal, Nathan, Smitty, Shank and Scotty each take a turn to raise a hand and promise to keep the pact we made three years ago.

The eight of us have been in the same platoon since we joined SEAL Team Six five years ago. Team Six is a special SEAL unit that takes on missions that are too dangerous for regular troops and it had appealed to the spirit of adventure in all of us.

We were in sync right from the beginning and we worked together like a well-oiled machine. Soon we became one of the elite platoons and they sent us in where nobody else dared to go. We did pride ourselves on the fact that we always made it home, and each time we were practically unscathed.

That is, until the mission in Yemen three years ago. We made it out by the skin of our teeth and we got banged up pretty badly. It also shook us up a bit, and before we went on the next mission, we made a pact. If the day ever came that one of us didn’t make it out alive, the rest of us would retire from the SEALs and start a defense business together. Now we must keep that pact, because two of us will never see home again.

Bells lets out a long drawn-out moan as he lifts his right hand with what seems to be the last of his strength. His eyes flicker to each of us one more time as the words rasp from his throat. “All for one—” The last word is a sigh that comes out in a cloud of pink foam. His hand drops to his chest and his head rolls to the side as the light fades from his eyes.

I pull Jace’s dog tag from my pocket and lay it on Bells’s chest. Then we raise our hands like swords above our fallen comrade and we complete the chant. “And one for all.”

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