SEASON THREE! WOOT-WOOT!
And back to 9 o'clock! Now THAT's what I'm talking about...
"You...you didn't leave him out there on purpose, did you Uncle Ray?"
Ray kissed the top of her head on his way by to check on Clay...oh, if only she knew the truth behind all what she was hearing.
"I assumed and that's not something we can do in our job." He set the hammock in motion, watched it swing, waited to see if Clay would wake up. He didn't. "No kitten, I didn't leave him out there on purpose."
"His bad luck..." Sonny shook his head. "Only fucking cactus plant on the cliff and he finds it with his ass."
"His good luck..." Eric argued. "Finds shelter in a fucking desert."
"You make him puke," Jason warned Ray, tipped the beer bottle, pointed the neck at the swinging hammock. "It's on you."
"Gentle sway." Ray blew him off. "Just like his hammock on the plane."
"So, was he okay?" Emma asked her dad. "I mean, he was, he's here, but..."
"Uh, yeah." Jason assured her. "Sure he was, bit sore, didn't sit too comfortably for a couple days..."
"Sore? Jesus Jason, he was miserable." Davis snorted. "He was on his belly with IV's and antibiotics and pain meds for days. You let them cover him with glue. They sang rub-a-dub-dub, three men in a tub and had you hold him down while they scrubbed him with brushes. Have you ever tried to cool that man down with ice and cold water, covered in sand, under a shitty lean-to? Hey, hear me now. He doesn't like it. He..." She saw Emma's eyes widened, stray over to where Ray kept the hammock swinging. "Raymond Perry, the last time you set him swinging in his hammock, we had to land in the middle of an ocean."
"Yeah, didn't happen quite that way." Jason gave her a playful punch.
"Wasn't an ocean." Brock corrected. "Was a sea or a strait, body of water somewhere."
"Still, we didn't make the ship we were headed to." Lisa pointed out.
"Any idea what that cost?" Eric muttered darkly. "Think big. Like, 7 figures big."
Ray halted the hammock.
***Clay sleeps in his hammock***
Ray was the last member of Bravo to trudge up the ramp onto their transport C17 that was revving up to take off. Both Eric and Jason were eager to be out of this country, and Ray didn't blame them. The mission hadn't been difficult, just grueling and while everyone was wet, cold, tired, hungry and dirty, they were willing to forgo hot showers, a hot meal and dry clothing if it meant they could get the hell outta here.
They could dry off, eat a sandwich once they were airborne. He knew Davis had coolers packed with hoagies and water and Gatorade, because, well, she was Davis.
He tossed his back pack onto a seat, continued on. His luggage had been loaded into the belly of the plane, he kinda wished he'd taken the opportunity to retrieve the duffel with his clothes. Eh, well, not important. Davis and Mandy would not be offended, they sat around in nothing but blankets.
He stepped around crates, boxes, over peoples feet as he made his way to the back where the hammocks were strung. That there, was what was important...God-damn-pain-in-the-fucking-ass-Clay Spenser.
Ray took a breath, not surprised to find it was shaky. Oh yeah, it had been another close call with the kid. He'd up and gone off - against orders - with the local military to help find the kids who had scattered when the assault began on the village.
Why?
Well because, the kid had said, he spoke the language. What the hell sense did that make? Of all the half-cocked, asinine reasons! Yeah, yeah, he spoke six languages fluently, could get by with several others but scared kids were not on them. Bravo had cleared the village, no kids had been in harms way, that was all they had to worry about.
Sure, sure, you'd think, eh, no big deal, right? Wrong. Because this was Clay and whenever they let him out of their sight, shit happened. Ray hyperventilated whenever he thought about what could have happened this time!
Clay had somehow managed to fillet layers of skin off both hands - palms, fingers, knuckles, backs and heels. Most severe case of road rash Trent had ever seen, how'd Clay had gone and done it, remained unknown. Not even Trent could explain it, and he'd seen pretty much everything in the field. Had, at one time or another, had anything and everything thrown at him.
Well, it happened because he'd given away his gloves but Trent still couldn't explain the injury, had never seen the like and when Clay had tried to tell him he'd fallen and slid and climbed and grabbed and slid and there'd been a rock and a bush he hadn't been made any sense, and Trent had jokingly stuffed a glove - hahaha - in his mouth to shut him up and...here they were.
Ray didn't know who was going to kick the kid's ass first:
Blackburn, because Bravo had had to go after him - again.
Jason, because he had disobeyed orders - again.
Sonny, because he'd given away his gloves that might have prevented the injury.
Or Trent, for getting hurt and being unable to tell him what had happened - again.
Ray sighed, arms crossed, shoulder against a stack of secured crates.
The kid wasn't comfortable, was in some pain, and wasn't as responsive as Trent wanted him to be. That made Trent uneasy, hesitant about flying him home - he didn't think Clay's injury was serious, just inconvenient and uncomfortable. No man wanted to have both hands bandaged with his fingers bound together.
But it was the unknown, possible medication that had Trent questioning whether or not it was okay to fly and it wasn't fair to put that all on Trent, so Jason, Eric and Ray had made the decision to load up and fly out, but it was Clay, sooooo...that led to the problem that was...
Clay hadn't been with them when he'd hurt his hands and he'd been unconscious when the other team's medic had tended to him. They didn't speak English, Bravo's translator - Clay - had been knocked out so they didn't know what the medic might have given him, though Trent guessed and everyone concurred, it would have been something for pain. Before they could wake Clay and have him ask, the other team had been called off.
So far Clay wasn't showing any signs of any kind of reaction. Heart rate was normal, breathing wasn't restricted, he showed none of his obvious signs that he was in pain and it was too soon for signs of infection. Trent wanted to get home, turn Clay over to Doc. He'd joked Clay would have to ask for help to take a piss, or eat during the flight, then ordered the kid to the plane to get some sleep.
But Trent was on edge and they all knew it because he didn't bother to hide it.
"Hey Spenser." Ray nudged his hammock, wanted to see the kid stir, hear him moan - reassurance the kid breathed. "You good?"
"Mmmmm." Clay blinked up at him, snuggled into the depths of the hammock under the blanket Lisa had given him, went back to sleep when it was obvious Ray didn't want anything from him.
Satisfied, Ray didn't think anything more of it, walked away, Clay gently swinging in his hammock.
The plane was moving, hadn't yet picked up speed for take-off, but they were taxing to the runway. Cerberus erupted into a barking frenzy.
"Brock! Do something about that dog!" Ray complained. "Why isn't he crated for his safety during take-off?"
"He wouldn't leave Clay." Brock said, paused.
Six men and two women unbuckled, rose from their seats, rushed to the back of the plane.
Clay was on the floor, blanket tangled around his legs. He was on his side, elbow supporting his weight, hands tucked towards his stomach - heaving, retching, puking, choking - take your pick, he had it all covered.
"Hey Cerb, who's a good boy, eh?" Sonny fondled the dog's ears, who, now that he had everyone's attention, sat quietly.
"Clay? Look at me!" Trent ordered, squatted down. "Clay, hey! Heyheyhey...you with me? Lemme see." He reached for Clay, cupped his chin to hold his head still and raise it so he could see the kid's face.
Clay tolerated the touch, let Trent tip his head towards the light, then pulled away, let his head thump against the floor. Being horizontal felt best right now.
"Anything to spit out?" Trent asked, hunched over Clay. "Easy, you wanna lie down?" Clay shook his head. "No? Talk to me...what's wrong?"
"...don't..." Clay panted, swallowed, panted. "...feel..."
"You don't feel good, I know. Hands hurt? Pain bad?" Trent gave him a gentle nudge. "Lie down."
"Ow." Clay eased onto his back, held his hands out to Trent. "Numb."
The bandages ended just past his wrists and visible swelling could be seen up to his elbows, the exposed skin puffy and pudgy. Trent checked to make sure the bindings weren't too tight - they weren't.
"Want some ice?" Ray asked.
Clay only wore a t-shirt, a damp one, the blanket his only source of warmth. Ice would likely set his teeth to chattering, give him goose bumps, but if it helped the swelling and pain in his hands, they would find other ways to try and keep him warm.
"Stomach." Clay shifted uneasily, but didn't move. "Dunno...feels...like..." He blew his breath out, hunched a shoulder to wipe his face on his shirt. "Sea...sick."
Fuck, Trent thought, kid was throwing a reaction and they were about to be thousands of feet in the air. He'd have to put Clay on oxygen and IV's and possibly sedate him if the nausea and vertigo or dizziness became too much for the team to watch him go through.
No matter how well a person adapted to the motion of a boat - large or small - on calm or rough waters, anyone who spent a good amount of time on or in a boat eventually, at some time or another, experienced seasickness and it was never anything anyone wanted to deal with.
"Stop take-off." He told Eric when Clay didn't bother to roll over or turn his head when he spit up saliva. He waited, but when Clay didn't cough up anything more, didn't make him roll over, just wiped his mouth and chin. "Breathe through it. You're okay."
Eric didn't argue, went to issue the order.
"Seasick?" Sonny repeated, he stood back with Brock, Ray, Mandy and Davis. "Clay, you dingbat, you're on a plane, not a boat."
Clay flipped him off...well, raised a mitted hand and flapped in his direction.
"Trent?" Jason asked after Trent sat back, Clay flat on the floor. "Can you give him anything?"
Trent shrugged. "Breathing's compromised, hearts skipping a beat, pulse is racing...he's sweating, spitting out saliva, gets dizzy, he lifts his head. I don't like it."
That was enough for Jason.
Orders were given, the plane returned to the hangar and they prepared to disembark.
"Sir?"
Eric turned to address the man who had addressed him. "Anything?"
"Yes sir, there is a Naval hospital ship within flight range. Chopper can easily transport your injured man to it."
Eric conferred with Jason who deferred to Trent who weighed their options.
"Let's go for it." Trent decided. "Twenty minute flight versus what, eleven-twelve hours on the plane? It's a surgical ship, right? Doctor, lab, yeah...his best bet."
"He got seasick on a plane," began Sonny with a smirk. "And you wanna put him on a ship?"
"Give him a Scopolamine patch, will take a while to kick in, but don't want to give him anything with immediate results, could thrown him into a severe reaction." A while? More like four hours, but eh.
Sonny nodded, the situation had the potential to be serious, he joked because it was how he dealt,
"Don't...wanna..." Clay slurred, cheek on the wet, cold metal floor. He'd somehow turned onto his stomach without rolling over. "...move..."
"I'm going with you." Trent assured him.
"Wait...you?" Sonny lost his smirk. "Aren't we all going?"
"No." Eric said. "We will resume our flight once Spenser..." and he saw the hackles go up. Oh, this team did not like being separated. "Guys, it's not...we can't..."
Clay coughed weakly, spit out puke, saliva, phlegm, mucus. He lifted his head, tried to rub his eyes, pouted at his hands, pulled back from the mess on the floor, and with a whimper, rested his cheek on the nearest boot.
The C17, minus seven men, two women and a dog, flew back to the states.
()()()
Agitated, Clay squirmed in the seat that he was being securely strapped into. He felt hands between his thighs, nudging and prodding. He tried to slide down, move forward, stand up, turn sideways but the straps and buckles were pulled, made shorter or longer, loosened and tightened, finally fastened.
"Lift your ass."
He automatically arched his back, blindly obeyed the command from the medic whom he was accustomed to allowing unlimited access. He didn't flinch at the hands under his thighs, the strap he was sitting on pulled free, nor did he react when it was pulled across his belly and around his waist. He heard a snap and the buckle was secure. He tried to loosen the straps over his shoulders that buckled into the anchored clasp in the seat between his thighs, but yeah, his hands were useless, he wasn't going anywhere.
"Really? Is this necessary? I feel like I'm 3 and in a car seat." He complained sleepily, not completely sure all what they were doing to him. He wasn't sure where he was, how he'd gotten there or where he was going, but he knew who he was with and that was all he needed to know.
"Really? Now? You had to wake up now?"
"There's no place for you to lie down." Someone told him.
"We all have to buckle in." Said someone else.
"Not like you can buckle yourself in."
From then on, he heard every other word or so...lost the ability to follow what anyone was saying - or who was saying it.
"...flew into...storm... rough ride."
Laughter.
Clay wanted to protest, argue. At least disagree, but he was too miserable to do more than scowl. The headphones set heavy on his ears, made his head too heavy to hold up and he couldn't lift his chin from his chest no matter how hard he tried. The effort made his head roar, his ears pound, so he quit trying. He soon forgot about the tight straps holding him into his seat when the headphones were removed and a helmet was put on his head. Fingers pulled the strap under his chin, tightened it securely, replaced the headphones.
Wow, how rough was this ride going to get?
His knee was patted and he felt the dampness of fabric as two large bodies settled on either side of him and began the process of buckling themselves in.
"Kid, the things we do for you."
"You all could have been on the C17, travelling in comfort." Eric was tired, had a headache. This was going to bite him in the ass. It always did. The expense, the delay getting home. There would have been no issue over Clay and Trent leaving the plane, taking an alternate flight to a hospital ship, but the whole team? And he'd approved it. How the hell was he going to come up with an explanation for that!?
"Nah, would rather fly on a chopper in high winds to land on a ship where we can buffet on big waves."
"This is gonna cost us."
"Say what?"
"How?"
"Jason, your success rate ever falls..." Eric shook his head, began a conversation via his headset the others couldn't hear. He bet and bartered and dealt on Bravo's reputation and success rate to get what he wanted, keep the team out of trouble and explain away delays and expenses.
Ten minutes later, they were told they had to turn around, the eye of the storm was ahead and they couldn't fly through it or around it. The chopper, big and heavy as it was, was buffeting in the wind, making everyone queasy - Clay most of all. His visible struggle not to upchuck all over himself and just breathe was, despite the poor visibility and inability to hear, noticed by everyone.
Eric though, had some serious pull and the next thing they knew, they were landing on the deck of a nearby air craft carrier that offered both safety in the storm and a sick bay for Clay.
()()()
"Any idea why we're off course? I mean, we've stopped, haven't we?"
"Waiting for a chopper."
"None of ours are unaccounted for."
"Ain't one of ours."
"In this storm?"
"The hell? Out here?"
"Coming from where?"
"Holy Shit!" A fellow sailor careened across the floor, slid to a stop. "You're never going to believe this!" He babbled excitedly. "Guess what?! Just guess! I dare you! Bet you can't!"
"Chopper make it?"
"Why would we meet a chopper?"
"Obviously, it needed to land."
"Random choppers don't land on a U.S air craft carrier."
"You have any idea how hard it is to stop a ship this big?"
"Why us?"
"Why would we let it?"
"Really. The time? The cost? The delay?"
"Do you know what it takes to change coordinates? Deviate from a set course? Are we doing that?"
"Cap'ns gonna be pissed."
"Coast Guard of some country or another could have gotten it."
"Yeah, you don't divert an air carrier for a chopper."
"You do if the chopper is carrying a SEAL team!" Kevin was dancing, couldn't wait to impart the gossip. No one would ever top this.
Silence.
"No way."
"Those guys are ghosts."
"On a chopper?"
"Doubt it."
"If it's true, we won't see them."
"No one ever sees them."
"Right. They're heard of, talked about, but never seen."
"Hell, we wouldn't even know. Something like that wouldn't get out."
"They won't be on this level."
"Doubt it."
"Wardroom."
Kevin nudged in between two of the soldiers on the bench, sat down. He had everyone's attention and he wasn't going to fail them.
"I'm telling you, a chopper with a SEAL team on it landed on our deck. I was mopping on the Bridge when the orders came in. The chopper was headed towards one of the Naval Relief ships but the storm turned them back. They were going to return to land, but we were ordered to let them land."
"How do you know it was a SEAL team?"
"Because when the captain questioned why, he was told the chopper carried a multi-million dollar investment and their safety and security was top priority."
"You actually heard the words SEAL team?"
"Yes!"
A door at the far end of the cafeteria opened and one of the higher ranking officers entered the cafeteria.
The nine men gossiping at the table went silent. Officers of that rank rarely, if ever, entered this cafeteria unless it was an emergency. No bells or sirens or whistles or alerts had sounded or gone off, so all was well. Right?
"What the hell's he doing down here?"
The Officer was followed by a trio of large men dressed all in black. Behind them came a woman wearing camo. At her side was a dog.
"Fuck me!"
"Holy shit."
"Who the hell are they?"
"That who came on the chopper?"
"What are they doing down here?"
"Do you know who that is?"
"Should I?"
"Who?"
"The legendary Jason Hayes."
"Jay...no way! No one has ever seen him."
"How do you know that?"
"Yeah, his security level is so high above yours, you'd never see him even if you were stationed on the same base."
"I've seen his picture. Hell, we watch him in action when they show us films of missions."
"Don't much look like him."
"You think?"
"Never verified its him in the videos."
"That black man? Yeah, Ray Perry."
"Rumor says you never see one without the other."
"How do you know it's Ray Perry?"
"Only black man on Hayes' team."
"Don't they have some hot-shot sniper?"
"Yeah, young dude."
"Shit! What are they doing here?"
"Who's the other guy? Part of the team, you think?"
"He ain't so young."
"Might not be the sniper everyone talks about."
"They're here, 'cause their chopper landed on our deck asshole!"
"No, I mean, why here in our cafeteria."
"Uh, maybe they're hungry? They're human, you know. Gotta eat."
"Yeah, but they'd eat in the officer's quarters, the wardroom, not here."
"They don't mingle with us common men."
Everyone was staring. Openly staring. The dog was the only one to look around the room, make eye contact. A bowl was filled with water, put down for him to drink.
"Sonny, stop teasing the dog." Davis scolded. "Give him the...uh, is that stew? Soup? Maybe? No onions, right?" She asked the man ladling soup into bowls. He shook his head, the ability to speak beyond him. "Don't tell Brock." She told the dog, set a second bowl down. "And don't be messy."
"...sorry." The officer was telling Jason. "This is the only mess serving anything hot right now."
"Long as the food's hot, don't care where it's served." Jason accepted a bowl, set it on a tray. "Bread? Is that butter?"
"I smell coffee." Ray's nosed twitched. "Tell me it's brewed, not instant."
"Don't suppose you got a steak back there?" Sonny asked the man serving vegetables. The poor sailor shook his head. "Chicken pot pie?"
"Carrots, sir." The man - boy, really - stammered.
News, gossip, traveled fast aboard a ship, no matter its size. Anyone and everyone who was awake, no matter what level of the ship they were on, had heard the news about a chopper landing in the middle of a storm, bearing a SEAL team.
The carrot-serving boy swallowed hard, eyed Sonny nervously. This man could snap his neck before he'd be able to blink. Could knock him out cold and continue down the chow line. Would he, if he didn't like carrots?
Davis looked out over the room, saw seats at a nearby table that would accommodate everyone, for Brock and Trent would soon follow. Eric was on the phone again, but he too, would want something to eat. Mandy would undoubtedly be with him.
She saw the way everyone ducked, averted their gaze, then slowly started to stare again, grinned. No one would cat-call or whistle at her. Nope, no one would dare. The crew eating dinner this time of day, were young and new, one look from Jason and these kids would shit their pants.
"Steamed? Boiled?" Sonny grinned when the man's ears turned red.
Davis elbowed him in the side. "Jesus Sonny, you have him thinking you're going to snap his neck."
"Cooked, sir."
Sonny looked at the meager serving of carrots the boy ladled onto his plate. "That's it? I'm a big boy, not one of you waif-thin whippersnappers."
The boy added another heap. Sonny stared. A third heap was added.
"Stop teasing the boy and eat the damn carrots." Jason ordered. He was tired. Clay safely in the sick bay with the ships doctor and surgeon, he wanted to eat, shower, send his clothes to the laundry and go to bed.
They wouldn't be leaving this ship. They would remain on board until the ship reached its destination and Blackburn arranged for them to fly home from wherever the hell they ended up being put ashore.
Trent hadn't taken to the surgeon, but had formed an easy relationship with the doctor who was willing to listen to him regarding Clay, so long as Trent was happy and content that the kid would be treated right, Jason was okay with it.
How the chopper and its pilots were returned was someone else's problem, not Bravo's. Eric's though, probably, so Jason owed his Commander...well, something.
Sonny accepted the carrots because they were hot and right now, he wanted nothing more than hot food. His plate full, the tray bearing milk and dessert and water, he joined Ray at the table.
Activity was resuming in the room. Bravo was well aware of the effect they had on everyone but short of standing on a table and announcing, 'Yes, we're a SEAL team', there wasn't much they could do about it.
Kevin looked at the men at the table he sat with.
"See? See?"
"Looks like Hayes."
"And there's a black man with him."
"And his team has a dog."
"Not a woman though."
"She's Navy."
"Yeah, but what would she be doing with a SEAL team? If they were on a mission, she wouldn't have been with them."
"OH! Ohohohohoh! Lookit there!"
Brock walked in with Mandy.
"Their CIA spook, you think?"
"She has that agency look about her."
"He's one of them."
"That makes four. Aren't they usually a team of six?"
"That the sniper?"
There was no doubt who Eric was when he entered. People came to attention, saluted him, stood aside for him to pass.
"Christ, that's their Commander."
"What is he doing with them?"
"Why would he be?"
"Still only makes four."
Soon, all of Bravo was seated with dinner. Cerberus laid at Brock's feet, his ears pricked and his head came up.
"WOOF!"
And Trent led a sleepy, unsteady Clay into the room, directed him to the table where room was instantly made for him.
"There's the final two."
"Wow. That's the medic."
"The other one the sniper, you think?"
"Yeah, I don't think that's Hayes."
"Not a SEAL team neither, you never see them all together."
"He's definitely the leader."
"Doesn't make him Hayes."
"Yeah, just makes him the leader of these men."
"Still, a SEAL team though."
"Just not Hayes and his men."
Sonny got up to go with Trent to get the kid something to eat while Trent filled his own tray.
Clay's hands had been re-wrapped. He now had two fingers on his left hand exposed that could hold a spoon. He sat, head on the table in the crook of his arm while someone cut up the spaghetti and diced the meatballs into a size that would fit on the spoon.
"...not hungry..."
"Hey, I cut all this up, at least try it."
"You want it on your shoes?" Clay muffed into his arm. He was cold, damp, tired. Had wanted to stay in the sick bay and sleep but when Trent had said he was going to go get something to eat, Clay hadn't wanted to be left alone, so...here he was.
"You saying you're gonna flip a plate of food onto the floor in a tantrum?" Jason asked, tone a warning not to try such a thing.
"No." Clay mumbled. "Sayin' you make me eat it, gonna puke it."
"Anything sound good?" Mandy asked when no one else spoke up. "Crackers, maybe? Pudding?"
"...kind...of crackers?" He raised his head, chin resting on his forearm. He waited a minute, then awkwardly picked up the spoon, tried to maneuver a meatball onto it. Gave up, put the spoon down, picked up a fork, tried to stab one. "This...sucks."
"No more motion sickness?" Ray asked Trent.
"Patch is working."
"Don't they take, like, four hours or something?"
"Sometimes."
"Butterscotch, vanilla or chocolate." Mandy stood up. "Saltines, Ritz, cheese and peanut butter."
"The orange ones?" Clay sat up, tried to rub his eyes. His hands of no use, he rubbed his face against the nearest sleeve. "Okay."
Jason looked down with a sigh as Clay tried to itch his eyes with his sleeve. "You done?"
"What's that?" Clay eyed the buttered roll that Jason held, reached for it but it was too fat to grab with two fingers that were bound together and could only separate a mere space.
Jason quirked an eyebrow at Trent who grinned back. "You drug him?"
"What makes you think that?" He teased. "Mild." He assured his boss. "He's fighting it, but it'll put him down. We all need some sleep."
Clay slumped against him, cheek on his bicep. Jason rolled his eyes, held the roll for Clay to take a bite.
"You mean, like now?" Ray laughed, finished his soup, wiped the bowl with a roll.
"Why isn't he in the sick bay?" Eric asked tiredly. He was finished eating, was ready for bed. He'd be sharing a room with the girls, their safety more important than his rank or status.
"You try and leave him there."
"You will return him, right?"
"Yes." Jason said firmly, felt Clay stir against him in protest. "Uh, someone will stay until he falls asleep." So, if Clay couldn't grab hold and hang on with his hands, he'd lay on you. Huh, good to know.
"Won't take long."
Clay, fed crackers, meatballs, bites of bread and spoonfuls of pudding by various people, finally fell asleep, passed out, succumbed to the sedative.
They left him with his head on his folded arms on the table until they were finished eating, cleared the table, threw away their trash, returned their dishes.
"Who wants to carry him?" Brock asked, hands on hips.
"No one is slinging him upside down," warned Sonny.
"Get his feet Ray." Jason grabbed an arm, juggled Clay's weight against his chest. "Lead the way Trent."
Everyone watched the men in black carry one of their own from the cafeteria and disappear through a door they were forbidden to use unless there was an emergency.
"Well, that settles it. No way that was Hayes."
"Yeah, you're right. No way he'd do something like that."
"Bummer, was kinda hoping it was."
Headed towards a different door, Lisa and Mandy passed by Kevin and the others on their way out.
"Evening ma'am." Kevin offered politely when Lisa made eye contact.
"Evening," She returned with a smile. Impressed with the behavior of the sailors in the cafeteria, she said so.
"Thank you ma'am."
"If you don't mind me asking...was that...is... I mean...was that a SEAL team?"
"It was." She whispered with a wink.
"Could you tell us which one?"
She shared a look with Mandy, then returned her gaze to Kevin, a twinkle in her eyes.
"Bravo." She gave a little wave. "Night boys." She and Mandy left with Cerberus.
"Bravo?"
"Sonofabitch! That was Hayes!"
"WOW!"
