Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I'm borrowing her characters, dressing them up in MARPAT, and giving them some guns. BilliCullen and Scooterstale are making sure they're ready for inspection.
June 22
U.S.S. Bonhomme Richard
Two hundred and thirty nautical miles off the coast of Somalia
"Lock in, Doc!"
Instead, Bella's knees knocked and her fingers protested the order by curling tighter around the iron rails.
The scrape of her knuckles across the rough suede inner lining of her gloves registered a blink later, however, and a stream of curses, muttered through gritted teeth, spilled out for the involuntary – civilian – reaction.
Taking an extra second, Bella closed her eyes and sucked in a slow, deep breath of warm, salty air, trying to battle the pounding in her chest – a sensation that had nothing to do with the long ladder climb up, and everything to do with their planned descent down – before the staff sergeant got tired of waiting and just threw her over his shoulder like he'd promised. The effect, coupled with the familiar cries of seagulls surfing the currents a dozen yards off the starboard side was instantaneous, and, thankfully, just enough to loosen her grip.
About the time Bella's joints unfroze, the earth decided to tilt. Again. And like every other dip and bob over the last twenty-four hours, it took her stomach right along with it.
Bella bit back another curse as her whole body swayed along with the vessel. Against every one of her mental drills, her eyes betrayed her, dropping from the relative safety of the rails to the catwalk at her feet, and then all the way down through the metal grating to the flight deck thirty or more feet below.
"Let's go! Move it!" Emmett ordered again, swinging around just in time to catch their scientist's complexion turn to ash as the ship gently rolled.
His face split in two. "You alright? Lookin' a little green over there."
Bella mumbled something back, but those eyes of hers stayed glued to her feet – exactly where he'd told her not to look. Shoulders shaking, Emmett reached over and thumped the woman's helmet before she passed out or lost her lunch. "What'd I tell you?"
Bella's head jerked up, and when she caught the big man's toothy grin, a trail of warmth climbed up her neck and gave her wan cheeks a splash of color. With a hard swallow and a mental kick, she zeroed in on the digitized pattern of his shirt – where she swore she'd seen a tiny Eagle, Globe, and Anchor emblem embedded in the camo just the other day – instead of the flight deck below. Or worse… the endless, rocking floor of white-capped sapphire to her left and right, stretching as far as she could see.
"I'm fine… I swear," Bella managed, forcing a shaky smile as her palms twisted around the rails. "It's just…"
"Don't worry, I'm not gonna to drop you." Completely uncaring of the unprotected edge behind him, Emmett tipped his dark wraparounds down to give Bella a slow wink. She made a sour face in response, just like he'd aimed for. Before she could argue, though, he waved her off, spun half-way around, and thumbed toward the center of his back where two matte black locking clips hung from the network of dark beige webbing strapped around his torso. "Seriously, I'm a pro at this shit." He waved at the wrist-thick, military green rope hanging directly in front of them. "I could fast-rope down this fucker in my sleep."
Bella swallowed again. "Don't doubt it."
The staff sergeant's brows climbed up his forehead, disappearing beneath his helmet. "Didn't take you for being afraid of heights."
"Not heights…" She shook her head and then risked a glance over the railing to where Rosalie and a handful of sailors observed their progress. "Falling." As if in answer, the ship abruptly listed again, and that put-on, shaky smile vanished. "And the ship… it kind of moves a lot."
Making a noise somewhere between a laugh and a snort, Emmett scrubbed his face before offering her a pair wagging brows and a cryptic, "Just you wait." He thumbed at the clips and harness again.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm just… preparing myself," Bella told him as she gave herself another, harder mental kick and forced her feet to move.
Bending at the knees, Emmett gave the scientist his back so she could attach the clips on his harness to the two matching heavy rings on the front of hers. Better at it than he'd guessed she'd be, she fumbled only once, and only with the first clip. And then as soon as the second one snapped into place, in a lithe move they'd choreographed and practiced a half dozen times down on the deck, Bella hopped on, hugged his neck like her life depended on it, and locked her ankles tight around his waist.
"Well, hate to say it," Emmett shouted into the wind. Smooth and easy, he stood to his full height, taking Bella right along with him like she weighed nothing at all. "But you're gonna have to prepare yourself a fuckload faster when we're on that helo tomorrow night. You know that, right? Captain'll want to move fast to minimize vulnerability... So we got two, maybe three minutes, tops, to get everyone on the ground."
Bella nodded against the man's muscled back. "I got it. I won't freeze up, I swear." A second later, she added, "I won't puke on you, either."
"Well, that's good to know." Emmett's whole body shook with laughter as he stepped to the edge of the catwalk. "You remember the drill?"
"There will be a Marine on the helicopter who'll signal when we're two minutes and then one minute away. We'll go fourth, after Captain Cullen, Rosalie, and Jasper. Alice will drop down after we're on the ground."
"Good." He reached for the rope. "Ready?"
Bella squeezed her eyes shut. "As I'll ever be."
Two hours and four more practice descents later, her watch beeped noon. Swiping away a line of sticky sweat, Bella shucked her helmet and plopped down on a bench-sized, haze gray storage locker. When she leaned back against the bulkhead, the matching gray metal, warmed by the midday sun, was almost too hot to the touch. After a second of shifting and settling, however, it felt like a dream as the heat soaked into muscles she hadn't even guessed she had.
Off to the side, Emmett peeled off his harness with quick, efficient movements and then tucked it neatly into his pack. From a separate pouch, he produced a couple of plastic bottles before walking over. "You did good, Doc," he said as he dropped to the locker beside her.
She said nothing at first, but when he tossed her some water and commanded her to drink it all or else, Bella asked, "You really think this is going to work?"
The staff sergeant cracked open the plastic cap of his own bottle and downed half its contents in a single gulp. "What? You mean the operation?"
Her lips turned down. "Well, yeah, there's that." Folding an ankle under the opposite knee, Bella hesitated for a second before quietly adding, "I really just meant the part about us getting into the city unseen… and alive."
The grin Emmett sported was as arrogant as they come. "Piece of cake."
She hesitated again, chewing the already-gnawed-up inside of her cheek. "Alice said you were shot last time you were in Somalia." It wasn't a question.
Unbothered, Emmett chugged the rest of his water, crumpled the bottle, and chucked it into a nearby bin, hissing a triumphant, "Score!" under his breath. When the man turned back, still wearing that haughty grin, he just shrugged. "Minor. Shit happens sometimes."
Bella balked, because that definitely wasn't the reaction she'd expected, especially considering the helo pilot's version of events. Not to mention the staff sergeant's aversion she herself had witnessed when Captain Cullen first told them where they were heading. "She said the bullet punctured your lung." Again, it wasn't a question.
Emmett's head swung toward the stern, focusing a hundred or so yards away where two Marines stood in front of a trio of cardboard targets. The shoulders-wide, rifle-forward stance of the taller one was unmistakable. Just like the near-perfect placement of the triplet of shots that followed. When Jazz fired off another few rounds – just for fun – the target split in two, leaving its head hanging on by a splinter and flapping in the breeze. Alice threw her head back in a riot of giggles that Emmett could hear even this far away… right before she nailed her own target with a pair of deadly rounds from her .45.
He huffed. "What, are you two like BFFs now or something? What else has that little nymph told you?"
"Eh, enough…" One corner of Bella's mouth curled up. "And, please, don't ever say BFF again. It's bad enough you listen to Bieber. I'm still judging you for that."
The staff sergeant leveled her a flat, uncompromising stare that would have made most men – including most of his peers – duck and cover. Bella, on the other hand, didn't cower one bit, and he managed to hold his scowl for all of two seconds. "Fine," he grumbled. "If you have to know, yes, I was shot. And yes, the goddamned bullet blew out part of my lung, which hurt like a bitch, by the way." Emmett's eyes narrowed at the woman's twitching lips. "And no, I won't show you my bad ass scar – you gotta earn that shit." He flashed her a row of pearly whites. "And before you ask, yes, it's still going to be a piece of cake."
Her brow creased. "Why–"
"Because it's a rule, Doc." He sighed like she'd missed something critical and obvious. "Everyone knows that you never get shot going in." Emmett's thumb and forefinger made the universal sign for a pistol. Pulling the imaginary trigger, he mouthed a silent Pow!, blew the tip of the "barrel", and deadpanned, "Dying is only permitted after you've completed your orders and when you're trying to get your ass back home."
Bella blinked and shook her head, trying to decide if the man was actually serious.
"Ignore him."
At the opposite side of the locker, Rosalie kicked a boot up to retie her laces. "Your time got a lot better, but you're still going to have to move faster." She glanced up, locking eyes with Bella. "Not you, Dr. Swan, you're fine." She looked over to Emmett and cocked an elegant brow. "You, Staff Sergeant. You need to get your ass in gear. I think you're starting to show your age, old man."
"Bull fuckin' shit!" Emmett glared at the woman, folding his tree-trunk sized arms across his chest. Even hidden by his utility shirt, there was no mistaking the thick cords of flexing muscle. "One, I'm not old." Rubbing a palm over his bald head, he grumbled something unintelligible that sounded to Bella an awful lot like, "Jesus, you're mean." Louder, puffing up his chest, he went on, "And two, I'm still the best goddamned fast-roper in the whole battalion." He spat. "And, oh, by the way, that's with a full pack, a demo kit, a com kit, and humping a motherfucking 240, thank you very fucking much."
"Is that so?" Rosalie's brow arched even higher.
"It is." His voice dropped half an octave. "And if you'd like, I'd be more than happy to show you just how old I am, Gunnery Sergeant."
There was a beat of weighted silence, where it looked like the two sergeants were a hair's breadth from being at each other's throats. Not saying a word, Bella shifted slightly, sliding back until her spine hit the bulkhead.
Just on the cusp of violence, however, without warning, the gunny's cheekbones lifted into a rare, stunning smile that belonged on the face of a runway model instead of a hard-ass Marine. She chuckled. "You are way too easy."
At the woman's ribbing or maybe just from being blinded by that smile – Bella wasn't sure – Emmett's frown instantly melted away and his eyes twinkled. "We're not bad, huh?" he asked, throwing his legs off the side of the locker and motioning for Rosalie to sit. "That last run was smooth as shit. Gotta say, she's…" He pointed over to Bella, beaming like he'd just passed his favorite poolee. "Totally got this."
"Yep. She'll be fine." Rosalie twisted halfway around. "You're clear on what'll go down when we're on the ground?"
Bella nodded. "Yeah, I remember."
"If we take a knee, you take a knee," Emmett started in, leaning forward to repeat the same line of barked commands he'd given her on the flight over a week ago.
"I know. I got it." In an unconscious, nervous movement, Bella found a stray beige string off the hem of her shirt and looped it around her knuckle until her skin turned white. Looking down at her lap, she squeezed her eyes shut, and the vision of a man, sprawled out on a filthy cement floor, his chest seeping blood and riddled with three precision-aimed bullets issued from the Captain's carbine, burned the backs of her eyelids. "And this time," she quietly added, cinching the string even tighter. "I'll stay put when you tell me to."
Neither sergeant said a word. Instead, the three sat together, motionless, and watched Jasper and Alice continue their practice off the stern. By the time they were done, a pile of spent brass sat by the corporal's feet, stacked with obsessive neatness. Beyond, there wasn't a single cardboard target left intact.
"He's really good, isn't he?"
A smile played at the corners of Rosalie's lips. "You should see what he can do with a Barrett .50 at 1,500 yards."
Out of nowhere, a blast of hot wind whipped across the flight deck, smacking them all in the face and sending Bella's hair flying out of its ponytail. A blink later, from somewhere above and behind them came a loud, telltale whomp-whomp-whomp that drowned out all else. Following that now-familiar sound, Bella scanned the sky, squinting and shielding her eyes against the bright noonday sun.
The helo passed overhead as quickly as it had appeared, targeting a pad sixty yards away. Painted a dark, flat, jungle green, it was longer than Alice's, Bella noted, with a wider rotor diameter and a blunter nose. Both of its wide side doors stood slung open, leaving the cabin open to the air. One per side, a pair of tanned, scruffy-looking men in olive drab armor, each wearing a wicked-looking machine gun slung across his chest, casually manned the doors. Inside, hidden in the shadows, Bella glimpsed a handful more just like them.
As soon as the wheels touched down, with the blades still spinning, the Blackhawk's occupants rolled out, gear in tow. Without any noticeable direction, they fell into a loose six-man formation.
Beside her, Emmett made a noise somewhere between a growl and a groan and then grumbled under his breath. "And so it begins…"
Bella gave the staff sergeant a sideways glance, but didn't ask what he meant. Instead, head tilted in study, she trailed the soldiers' path to the nearest weathertight door, trying to make some measure of sense of their newest arrivals.
Tall, dark, and with varying lengths of facial hair, these men seemed rougher than the Marines and soldiers she was used to seeing in NoVA, like they'd been pulled directly from the field and hadn't had a chance to bathe, let alone shave. Long-legged and muscled beneath well-worn armor, the one in front wore a Kansas City cap, so faded it was closer to gray than red. Hot on his heels, sporting what looked like old garrison caps spun around backward, came the door gunners, and then a set of near-twins in wraparound shades. Finally, a mammoth of a man, with a pair of biceps that rivaled Emmett's and wearing a dusty, desert camo bandana, brought up the rear. Flashing a mischievous, Emmett-like grin, he yelled something – likely inappropriate – to their pilot before casually hefting his rifle across his shoulders and trailing after his crew. That grin was an illusion, however. Eyes always moving – scanning their surroundings, these men – including the beefy grinner – prowled with the same kind of coordination and lethal grace Bella had witnessed in only one other team.
"Who's that?" Bella asked, scrunching her nose when one of the door gunners spat something dark onto the deck.
"Deltas," the two sergeants replied in unison. Neither sounded too happy about it either.
She frowned. "General Cullen said something about that and about SOCOM… but I honestly have no idea what that means. Or who those people are."
Rolling his eyes, Emmett scoffed at the woman. "Haven't you ever seen Black Hawk Down? Or fucking Delta Force?"
Bella's lips mashed together at the staff sergeant's indignation, and for a split second, her eyes danced. She waited a second before answering, as if she were genuinely thinking his question over. Quietly, and carefully even, she finally asked, "Are you trying to tell me that's Chuck Norris over there?"
A strangled noise bubbled out of the big man, and his palm popped against the metal locker. "Did you hear that, Gunny?" He side-eyed the smirking blonde beside him. "I think Doc just tried to crack a joke... Emphasis on tried."
"Maybe." Beaming him a quick smile, Bella slid off the locker to stretch her aching muscles. "But seriously, they look…" she started, glancing over to Rosalie. As if she'd thought better of the rest of her original statement, she trailed off, landing on an uncertain, "Different."
The gunny sergeant snorted, ignoring the other woman's attempt at PC. "They just came out of Syria where they were doing some less-than-authorized scouting in the mountains."
"Why?"
"To try to make heads and tails of who's fighting who. To do a little gentle urging if need be." Rosalie paused for a moment, waiting until Bella made eye contact again, and when she added, "Not that different from what Edward used to do, to be honest," both her voice and her expression held something quiet and unnamable. Bella slowly nodded, understanding but not quite, and the gunny gave back a quick, succinct dip of her chin – another unspoken handshake. A split-second later, Rosalie's face cleared with a loud harrumph and random wave of her hand. "Only, as you can see, these guys tend to go a little… native from time to time."
As if he could feel their appraisal, the soldier in front – the one with the cap – turned his head. The face that stared back at them was maybe handsome, but behind the two-week beard, it was impossible to tell. All Bella could say was that it was symmetrical and hard, like his features had been carved out of some kind of coffee-colored hardwood, and when his pissed off coal-black eyes met hers, even from across the deck, Bella instantly looked away.
"Don't mind him," Rosalie told her. Unperturbed, she began casually rolling up her sleeves.
"The one in the Chiefs cap, what's his deal?"
"Pfft, he's just pissed off he's not on point."
"Does he have a name?" Bella asked, although she had a feeling she already knew.
"That'd be the Wolf, team leader of Push Team 2."
"Also known as Lieutenant," Emmett chimed in, not even bothering to hide his annoyance. Faster than Bella could follow, Rosalie's elbow jabbed right, and Emmett's lungs expelled in a harsh punch. "Damn it, woman! Will you please stop hitting me?" Ignoring the gunny's responding glare, the staff sergeant let out a wheezy cough. "Fine, Captain Jacob Black."
Brows furrowed, Bella's gaze swept the deck again, just in time to catch the men ducking through the door, one by one. Once the door latched shut, clearing her throat, she turned back to Rosalie. "So… you guys going to share why Captain Cullen broke that guy's face."
Instead of answering, this time the two Marines just smiled.
June 22
Special Operations Command Center
U.S.S. Bonhomme Richard
Two hundred and thirty nautical miles off the coast of Somalia
Leaning against the nearby desk, Captain Jacob Black – a 6'3" wall of lean muscle and precision firepower, and a "big deal" in his own right – moved his focus from the barrage of images flashing across the giant screens in front of them to the ice cold man in desert MARPAT beside him.
"All right, Cullen, so how do you want to run this thing?"
At a single wave of Edward's hand, the raven-haired petty officer manning the board killed the slideshow. With a couple of quick keystrokes, the young twenty-something split the right-hand screen to show two shots – the best overheads they had of their two primary targets – and with a toggle of his mouse, on the left-hand screen, he pulled up the detailed terrain map Edward had prepped himself earlier this morning. On it, five distinct routes, color-coded by time, risk, and preference, wound their way through the vast inner network of plateaus and watercourses to the large Somali city in the south.
Out of habit, Edward's fists dropped to his hips as he turned to face the other man. He didn't reply immediately, instead waiting until all the muttered commentary from the back of the compartment went silent. When it finally came, his answer was curt and efficient – even more so than usual. Which wasn't that unexpected considering the content and combative tenor of last two hours' worth of discussion.
"Just like your briefing said, Captain. We will execute the first two targets simultaneously. You and your team..." Edward acknowledged the line of five now slightly cleaned up men stationed against the rear bulkhead. On the far left, Staff Sergeant Paul Lahote, call sign Howler – a "shoot now, talk later" kind of guy – whipped out a combat knife and made a show of picking his nails. "Will move to the compound in the north as we move into the city. Your pilot will drop you two klicks from here." He stopped, flicked a slim, pen-like laser pointer toward one of the two satellite images – the camouflaged compound wedged tight between the steep rocky cliffs – and circled a flat spot of dirt on top of one of the nearby plateaus. His pointer flew back to the compound, and without pause, he went on, explaining, "We have next to no intel on what's in there, who's in there, how far along they are, none of it. All we know is that as of a couple of weeks ago, the weapon of interest was there and in the process of being prepped. And we know they've got no shortage of manpower – mostly pros, but typical of the region." Edward clicked the rubbery button on the end of the pointer, and the red beam abruptly winked out. "I want that information."
Jacob's expression turned dark. "You just want recon? You're fuckin' kidding me, right?"
"No, I'm not fuckin' kidding you." Unflappable and as calm as ever, Edward leaned back against the opposite desk to study the man that many considered to be his polar opposite. Four years younger, the newly minted captain was arrogant, hotheaded and brash to Edward's logic and icy composure. He was loud and flashy, and thus, his team's assignments had been different than Edward's. He bore fewer scars and fewer nightmares, too. But nonetheless, Black's numbers were solid, paced to one day parallel Edward's own. Trying to keep that in mind and calling upon every bit of patience he possessed, Edward folded his arms across his chest. "Did you even bother reading the packet?"
Still wearing that dark glower, Jacob reached behind him for the thin manila folder that he'd received a day and a half ago, raised his brows in challenge, and tossed the folder onto the steel table between them. A dozen brown-black smudges decorated its cover. "What do you think?"
"Doesn't matter what I think."
Quiet and perched on a stool in the back, at least one of the compartment's occupants noticed the muscles of the captain's bare forearms rolling beneath his skin.
For a long moment, Edward studied his rival-cum-ally. "But if you've read," he said after a second, "then you should know all about XR-5 and understand exactly why you can't just go in there guns blazing, which I know you do so well."
Resituating his cap, Black rolled his eyes. "Then what do you propose we do, Captain? We've been jabbering for going on two hours. Let's get down to business, yeah?"
"We do this in two phases. Intel, then action." Edward placed both hands on the table and leaned forward. "Before we move in, I want enough details to take these people down. And Dr. Swan over there," he said, motioning to the quiet woman on the stool. "She's to review anything having to do with that warhead. Understand?"
Jacob's gaze skipped across the compartment to the slender, dark-haired scientist sitting between Captain Cullen's foul-tempered gunny and a dirty blond twenty-something that Jake recognized to be one of best long guns the Marine Corps had. The tan-colored fleece she wore swallowed her whole.
Pissed off that she was here, that he was here, and more than anything that Cullen was here, Jacob glared at her frailness. Unlike this afternoon on the deck, however, this time the woman didn't look away. Revealing a bit of hidden steel and betraying no small amount of unexpected irritation, her pink cheeks puffed up and she glared right back.
Interesting, Jacob thought, forcing himself not to smile.
Following the younger captain's gaze, Edward just resisted the urge to step between them. Instead, his fists squeezed together and with a harsh, inward curse, he pushed off the table and moved toward the map. "Just after dusk tomorrow, " he continued on, "my team will drop and move to position here." He tapped the screen. "Forty klicks to the east of the villa target, where we will acquire vehicular transport from a CIA source on the ground.
"Your team will simultaneously move to this inlet." Again, Edward flicked on his laser pointer and pointed to a small C-shaped pocket along the eastern coast. According to the terrain map, high, rugged cliffs rose on all sides. "Where you will hold for my go ahead. You will then maneuver by helo to your drop point as we make our way inland by road.
"At exactly oh one hundred, you and your team will insinuate yourselves inside this compound while we do the same at the villa. No one will know you're there. I repeat that, Captain Black, no one. This is strictly recon. I want soldier counts, weapons lists, layouts, pics, everything you can get your hands on. And more than anything, we need the exact location of that goddamned warhead. Thirty minutes, max." The captain jabbed his finger on the curve of a dried out watercourse one hundred and thirty klicks south of the compound. "We'll meet here at oh six hundred to prep for strike."
Jacob's forehead creased and his response came quick as a punch. "I don't li– "
"I don't care what you like," Edward answered back in a cool, serene voice that called to mind the chilling images of Colonel Laurent on his knees in the dirt. Across the compartment, Bella huddled deeper inside the captain's jacket. "This is not something you've done before."
Unyielding, Jacob stood to his full height and popped off, "And you have?"
"Close enough." Edward didn't look away. "Close enough to know that the second you waltz in there and fire off a round, this mission is blown.
"These are not your garden-variety jihadis. They're smarter – smart enough to steal one of the brightest scientists we had right out from under us – and they're bankrolled. They'll go to ground and we won't know where until a bomb or three goes off in Los Angeles. Or Miami. Or D. C. Or any other city along the seaboard. They'll let loose this nightmare, and it'll be mass chaos and terror. Thousands – hundreds of thousands – will suffer and die, but we won't be able to do a fucking thing about it, because we'll already be dead. So you will follow the plan and save the hot-dogging for later."
The other man's mouth flattened into an angry scowl. Not waiting for rebuttal, Edward gestured toward Bella. "Dr. Swan estimates we have maybe a week before XR-5 is live and ready to go. That's the kind of timeframe we're talking."
"And what exactly are you planning on doing with Dr. Swan while we're off playing in the sand?"
Edward didn't even hesitate. "She's stays with me."
Jacob's shoulders flew back and his face morphed into a mask of furious incredulity. Against the bulkhead, five soldiers grumbled their disagreement. "You mean to tell me that you're planning to take her – a fucking civilian – into the middle of a war zone? Are you insane?"
At that, Bella's lips parted, but the words she would have spoken died on her tongue as the air sparked to life. The twisting cords of muscle along the captain's forearms froze, and that cool, collected composure of his turned into something far more vicious and far, far scarier. "Let's be clear," he said, low and cold, crossing the space between him and Black in a single, focused stride. "Civilian or not, Dr. Swan is a part of this team. We're dealing with something new, something most of us have never even dreamed of. And that scientist over there happens to be the only one here – on the whole fucking planet for all we know – who has any clue what that something is and how it can be contained. She is as necessary – more necessary – than you, me, or anybody else." Edward spat. "And like it or not, that civilian has managed to accomplish four things that you haven't, and likely never will, Jacob."
Jacob seethed. "And that is?"
"She's the one who gave one of those fuckers a name, something the CIA couldn't even do. She's the one who developed the closest thing to an antidote we have – that injector in your front left pocket that may wind up saving your ass came from her, by the way. And third, Dr. Swan also just happens to be the one who figured out how these motherfuckers are planning to deliver that weapon. That's a hell of a lot more than anyone from your branch, or mine, or anybody else's can claim."
When the captain turned his back, motioning for the petty officer, who was now wide-eyed and frozen in his chair, to continue with the images, Jacob muttered, "That's only three."
Without even bothering to look, Edward fired back. "She also hasn't pissed me off."
June 23
U.S.S. Bonhomme Richard
Two hundred and thirty nautical miles off the coast of Somalia
It was quiet out on the flight deck, with the only sounds being that of the waves gently lapping against the hull and the low hum of the big diesel engines a dozen decks below. With the setting of the sun, the ship's rocking had calmed, too. But then again, Bella thought, shoving her hands deep in her pockets as she slowly meandered from the bow to the stern, it could have been that she was just getting used to the movement.
She found the stairs – a ladder, according to Emmett – on her second lap. Tucked neatly behind a pair of Harriers, the five-feet wide set of steps led up to a small platform cut into the side of the bridge structure. A kind of observation deck that provided access to one of the larger hoists, it was out of sight and, more importantly, out of the way of the handful of men and women making their rounds and conducting their nightly activities on the flight deck below. Yet at the same time, with the pale white light coming down from the full moon directly above, it granted Bella an unobstructed view of the ship.
Alone in her quiet perch and with her elbows propped against the rails, she stared across the deck below, watching a pair of seamen pry open an uncooperative hatch. Beyond, a handful more gathered around what looked like the outline of a helo. From here, she could just make out the murmur of voices. It looked like they were taking it apart.
An hour or so later, somewhere around two, the breeze kicked up, light and salty, but cool enough to drive Bella back toward the steps. Instead of descending all the way, not ready to go back down to her temporary quarters where Alice snored and slept like a log, she stopped three steps from the top. There, a pair of gray steel panels shielded against the wind. She eased her sore muscles down, resting her chin in her palms, to sit and resume her watch of the flight deck, hoping that her mind would eventually take the hint and slow down long enough to grant at least a few hours of rest.
The soft pad of boots on metal behind her should have startled her. Maybe it didn't because she was so tired and her senses were shot. Or maybe, Bella rationalized, it was because she'd somehow picked up the nuances of his gait. Either way, instead of jumping when she felt the familiar presence over her shoulder, the corners of her mouth curved up.
"You need to learn some manners," she said, not looking back as she slid over to make room.
Taking her cue, Edward sat, close enough that the temperature of the air rose a couple of degrees. "Am I being too sneaky again?" he asked, copying Bella's pose. Across the deck, he saw the helo mechanics just finishing up the blade swap. When they fired that Blackhawk up later tonight, it would barely make a whisper.
She stole a glance to her right, fascinated by the play of moonlight across the harsh lines of the captain's face. It had a softening effect, made even better when he didn't bother hiding the hint of a smile. "You should do that more often," she told him, unconsciously shifting in closer, until the outside of her thigh felt the hard press of muscle.
Edward looked down. "Do what?"
"Smile."
He didn't have an answer to that, so he said nothing, and for a long quiet moment, they sat, side by side, a deck and a half above the world. Even though Bella had turned away, no doubt wearing a pretty pink that he wished he could see, Edward didn't. Instead, giving in for a minute, he roamed her heart-shaped face, moving from the witchlight glow of her wide, wide eyes to the soft, wet shine of her plump lips.
"Thank you," Bella said after a little while.
His Adam's apple dipped. "For what?"
She turned back toward him. "For this afternoon." Bella's voice was as soft as her lips. And as warm as the slender hand that reached through the dark and found his. Her fingers curled, fitting into the spaces between his. "You didn't have to defend me. I know you didn't want to bring me along either."
Edward squeezed back. "I still don't want you here, but not for the same reason. I meant every word I said."
Another blush climbed Bella's cheeks, and she was grateful for the darkness. "You know," she started, recalling the eerie, frigid calm that he'd assumed with Captain Black this afternoon. "You can be pretty scary when you want to be."
The captain shrugged, but his gaze slipped past her, focusing somewhere far away. "I am what I have to be."
Bella's thumb stroked his knuckle, light as a feather, across the line of healing skin she herself had patched up only a few days before. "I'm not scared of you, though."
When she passed over the rough skin again, Edward came back with a little shake. "You're not, huh?" he asked, clearing his throat and mind. Bella shook her head, whipping him gently with her ponytail, and a lopsided smile reclaimed his lips. "Then I'll have to work on that."
They were silent for a while longer, satisfied to just be. Overhead, a layer of wispy clouds rolled across the sky, turning the moon into little more than a muted ball of pale gray light. The shadows underneath Bella's eyes darkened along with it.
"I need you to get some rest," Edward said when Bella finally looked over.
She ducked her head. "I know. I just… couldn't sleep. I'm nervous… about tomorrow. Or tonight, or whatever. But I was going crazy inside there." Her free hand gave a casual wave at their surroundings. "It's quiet out here… relaxing. I can breathe." Her teeth grinded and she just stopped the shiver from rolling through her limbs. "I know that probably doesn't make any sense to you."
"No, it does make sense." The captain seemed to hesitate – a rarity – and for a moment, his grip went slack, as if he were turning her loose. But then something in his face shifted when she looked back up. It softened and warmed in the way it had earlier, when he'd first sat down beside her. "Come here," Edward quietly said, letting go of Bella's hand just long enough to wrap his steady arm around her shoulders and pull her tight against his side. "You can lean on me."
Without thinking, taking whatever comfort he offered, Bella turned her face into Edward's chest and inhaled the subtle scent that she'd never associate with anyone else. "What if I go to sleep?" Bella's smile was cut off by a tired yawn.
His voice rumbled inside his chest. "Then I'll carry you down to your quarters."
"People might give you shit for that."
Edward's shoulders shook, but when her slim arm stole around his waist and when her head gently lolled to fit into the crook of his neck, his laughter ceased. As much to her as to himself, Edward said, "Let 'em try."
Notes:
Glossary:
Bulkhead – means wall in Navy-speak. A few other common seafaring terms: deck = floor, compartment = room, stern = back of the ship, bow = front of the ship, port = left, starboard = right, ladder = ladder or stairs.
Delta Force – or 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment – Delta (1st SFOD-D), is one of the U.S. military's Special Forces units. Delta Force is thought to be structured similarly to the SAS, and their main activities include: counter-terrorism, direct action/assault, and sneakily doing stuff we don't want other people knowing we're doing. They're a rather secretive bunch of bad asses. Thus, the organizational nomenclature you see in the above chapter is just me making stuff up. :)
Fast-rope – or FRIES, or Fast Rope Insertion Extraction System, is a rope descent method used to quickly insert military personnel, usually by way of helicopter. Unlike rappelling, where descent is controlled via a descender or rappel device, usually attached to a harness or Swiss Seat (hand-tied harness made from a segment of rope), fast-roping requires no mechanical device, nor does it require a harness. Descent is controlled by the person's own body – hands, feet, and knees. Think of it like sliding down a pole, but the pole is a rope… and it's up to 90 feet in the air.
Note: Emmett isn't using a harness for fast-roping. He's just wearing it to give Bella something to clip onto to make sure she doesn't fall off when he fast-ropes them both down.
NoVA – referring to several counties in Northern Virginia near D. C. The area is home to numerous military and military-related complexes: the Pentagon, with its various agencies and departments, being the most famous, the Air Force Office of Scientific Research, Office of Naval Research, Defense Information Systems Agency, DARPA, National Reconnaissance Operations Center, the CIA, Defense Logistics Agency, Defense Threat Reduction Agency, etc. Plus, there is the nearby military base of Quantico (Marines), and then Langley-Eustis near Newport News. Hence, the general area has a rather large presence of military personnel.
Poolee – a term sometimes used for hopeful Marines in the DEP (Delayed Entry Program) prior to completing boot camp.