Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Thump. The chopper bounced around as they approached base, making Bacon’s shoulders bump into his friends. Farther down from them, the LT was deep in conversation with the XO and the senior chief. In the back, the new guy, Rooster, said something while flexing his giant biceps that made Donaldson laugh. This was Bacon’s team, and it wasn’t so much that the team was full of homophobic assholes as it was that the team was on edge.
Had been ever since their former XO had resigned his commission and left to go do private security work in DC and then their former enlisted explosives expert had also left to go do private security work in DC, and it didn’t take a street performer to be able to read the tea leaves there and see that they were a couple now. And that made a lot of people—the LT included—uncomfortable, and there had been a marked increase in homophobic insults and other crap since Bacon’s friend Lowe, the explosives guy, had departed.
Throwing a person like Bryant into the mix was like wrapping the whole team in det cord and just waiting for the spark that would make the whole thing go boom. Bryant was gay. And old. And skinny. And no matter how good-looking he was, he was bound to be out of shape and unable to keep up. And the last thing they needed was someone of Bryant’s investigative prowess getting wind of what had gone down with Lowe and the old XO, drawing the wrong set of conclusions.
Bacon’s finger ached right along with his heavy heart. This entire thing was just a snafu waiting to happen. Nothing good could come of Spencer Bryant being a part of their team. Nothing.
* * *
Even though it was just this side of five a.m., Spencer was ready to work. Nothing like the fresh feel of a story about to unfold. He loved research and the actual writing, but few things compared to the rush of being in the field, gathering information, covering a story as it unfolded. Yesterday Naval Public Relations had handed him off to a rear admiral’s office to get an overview of the team he’d be assigned to. And the admiral’s assistant had said he’d meet the team today and then join them for “light PT.”
The team was due to be deployed in the next two weeks, but the admiral’s office couldn’t tell him when or where, other than to say that the Middle East was unlikely for this particular team, which was a bummer. Spencer had embedded with the army a few years back in Afghanistan and had figured that experience could give him a leg up here. Still, he was damn lucky Public Relations had granted his request—it had taken months of paperwork and phone calls and negotiations to get this assignment. He’d even had to get vaccines. And sign waiver after waiver. This wasn’t any ordinary interview, and he was seriously pumped for it to start.
“I’ll take you to the team.” A young lieutenant met him at the security gates for the base and showed him where to park before leading him to a white Jeep. He’d already figured out there was a “Don’t let Bryant be alone a single second” order in effect. The lieutenant had short, blond hair and a firm demeanor that suggested she’d been one of those busy-bee types in school, on every organizing committee possible. She drove as efficiently as she moved and talked. And she had no issues giving Spencer orders on how to act.
“The team is assigning you a SEAL to be your personal team liaison. Do not go anywhere without that person and direct all your questions to him first. Team leadership will also be available to you, but I have to tell you, they were not happy to be given a reporter.” She delivered this news very matter-of-factly as she wound her way through the base, heading toward the beach, and Spencer supposed it was no surprise. He wouldn’t want a reporter if he were in their shoes either.
“I understand,” Spencer said as they parked. On the far edge of the lot, near the path leading to the beach, a group of men were assembled. A shorter man paced back and forth in front of them, and judging by his demeanor and pointed gestures, he was delivering some sort of lecture.
“That’s the team’s officer in charge, Lieutenant Thomas. He’ll want to introduce you to the men,” she said as they walked over to the group.
“Lieutenant Mears, the LT’s just explaining to the team about Mr. Bryant’s presence.” A man with a large barrel chest and ruddy face broke away from the group to stride over to them. “Mr. Bryant, I’m the senior chief for the team. We’re...happy to have you.”