Boy, What Were You Thinking?
When Bravo and Alpha finally returned from the extended deployment in Syria, they were all worn out, and their now official young rookie was exhausted physically, mentally and emotionally.
Touching down on base in Virginia Beach, just over two months had passed, and the hot, humid late summer they had left behind had turned to dry, cool fall. Exiting the plane, the cool breeze and familiar smell of the Atlantic air came as a welcome surprise to the newly minted Bravo Six who felt as if he'd just barely survived his baptism with fire.
Jason kept his eye on the kid who was standing on the tarmac looking lost and confused as to what he should be doing. Brock's loyal, furry partner was at his side, and the boy was absentmindedly stroking the dog's fur as he looked around at the surrounding scene. His older brothers who had been focused on him throughout their time in Syria, consistently monitoring his performance in the field and mother-henning him when they were back in their temporary home, were now on auto-pilot and switching gears from the long, arduous mission to the sudden familiarity of home.
The older, experienced operators had become proficient at imperceptibly recalibrating. Morphing without obvious effort from warriors fighting an unseen battle to regular Navy guys, just coming home from work.
Brock, who had been counting down the days to his much anticipated return to home and safety and normalcy, suddenly felt unnerved and unsteady. He was shivering from the forty degree drop in temperature from just over ninety when they boarded in Syria, to a breezy fifty-four degrees when he stepped off the plane in Virginia. It was cloudy, gray, and according to the clock on the side of a nearby building, 4:32 p.m.
Bravo's youngest was looking around at his older brothers who had somehow seamlessly become husbands and fathers. Ray was holding his little girl who had her arms wrapped tight around his neck in one arm while wrapping the other around his very pregnant wife who was smiling like she had just won the lottery. Nate was kissing his young, blond wife as they walked toward the parking lot followed closely by two clearly excited kids, one boy and one girl, both talking at the same time and arguing over who would take their dad's hand and who would hold the leash of the equally hyper Golden Retriever currently sporting a flag bandana around his neck.
Across the lot, Brock could see Alpha's unexpectedly gentle for his size bomb guy Josh hugging his own wife and three kids while their medic Derrick was leaving with a pretty, dark haired woman who suddenly reminded Brock of his favorite aunt back home in California. The single guys were milling around, gathering their gear, saying their good-byes and heading toward their vehicles.
"Hey kid," Jason said gently, walking toward his young rookie who was looking dazed. "You about ready to head home?"
Brock looked up at his boss and hero with exhausted eyes that were no surprise to the team leader and father of two kids not much older than the boy standing in front of him still holding tight to the patient dog.
"Um," the kid hesitated, looking around. "Yeah, Boss. I guess I need to take Cerb back to the kennels first?"
Doing his own sudden transformation from team leader to concerned dad, Jason reached out without hesitation to rest his strong hand on the kid's head.
"How about I give you and Cerb a lift?" Jason said, calm and gentle. "We can stop by the kennels and then once you have him checked back in with the vets, I will drive you back to your dorm."
"Where's Trent's wife?" Brock asked, completely out of the blue and looking over to his much-loved big brother who was standing over near the grass talking to Sonny and Metal. "I thought Trent had a wife. She's got brown hair."
The kid looked up at Jason confused. "Why isn't she here to pick him up?"
"I don't know, kiddo," Jason said lightly. He made eye contact with Sonny who had looked over at him and the kid. "Janice is Trent's wife. I'm not sure where she is. Maybe she got stuck at work or something."
Wrapping an arm around the kid who was shivering in just a t-shirt, Jason led him and the dog toward his three lifetime companions as Ray teasingly referred to the grumpy old men huddled together likely planning a pit stop for drinks at the Bulkhead on their way home.
"You cold there, little buddy?" Sonny smiled, shaking his head at the boy who was leaning into the boss clearly seeking warmth in the cool, windy late afternoon air that had taken the poor kid by surprise.
"A little," Brock said quietly, looking over at Trent whose expression did not give away any clues about what he was thinking.
"It takes awhile to get accustomed to going from the desert to home," Trent said calmly. Crouching down to unzip his bag, the medic rifled around before coming up with an old gray hoodie that he handed up to the worn out kid leaning against the boss. "Put this on before you catch cold."
"Thanks, Trent," Brock said softly, immediately putting on the much too big sweatshirt, grateful for its warmth. "I guess I wasn't expecting it to be so cold."
"You did good, kid," Metal nodded at him. "I was pleasantly surprised. And I'm rarely surprised. I think Ray-Ban picked a winner this time."
"Thanks," Brock said, respectfully. "I appreciate you and all the guys from Alpha helping me out. Cody taught me and Cerb a lot that's gonna help me be better for Bravo."
"Damn, Hayes," Metal said, shaking his head. "I like this one. He knows how to talk to his elders. And he's not a moody mute like your last pick. I vote that you let Ray do the recruiting from now on. He's clearly more capable than you at Human Resources."
"I'll take that under advisement," Jason said with zero emotion.
"Hey," Metal said. "You and Shorty want to join us for a drink? Or a few drinks, more likely. We can get the kid a Shirley Temple. He can be our designated driver."
"You got your fake ID on you kid?" Sonny teased. "I assume you've been introduced to Foxy's."
"Foxy's?" Brock looked up at Sonny confused. "Isn't that the strip club? With the, you know…"
The kid hesitated at Sonny's blank expression. He turned to look at Trent looking confused. "I mean," he said. "I heard the ladies there are like, um. Prostitutes?"
Sonny gasped, looking aghast. He stepped back, putting his hand on his chest like a church lady at a nightclub. "What?" he said, mouth open. "Those are my best girls you are talking about, boy. You are damn lucky there's not a barn around here, because if I had access to a barn or a woodshed right now, you can bet I'd be marching your foul mouthed tail out for a lickin' you'd be feeling for a week."
Metal was laughing out loud. "I love this kid already," he said, shaking his head. "Who the hell told you the girls at Foxy's are hookers? And what the fuck do you even know about hookers?"
"Nothing," Brock stammered, backing up into Trent who was shaking his head at the antics of his longtime brothers and overgrown frat boys. The medic wrapped his arm protectively around the middle of his legitimately nervous and confused kid from behind, pulling him in close and holding him tight. "I don't know anything about it, sir. I've never been there. I just turned twenty-one before my last spin-up. Um. I don't even remember who said that to me. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to talk bad about your - um girls."
Turning to look nervously at Sonny, who was maintaining his pissed-off dad face, the kid continued to ramble. "I'm sorry, Sonny. I didn't know you had friends there. I won't say anything like that again. I promise."
"I'm gonna let it go. This time only, boy," Sonny narrowed his eyes, pointing at the kid. "I know you've been hanging around with those delinquents in the dorms since you got here. But, now you are Bravo. Our kid. And you can bet I will not hesitate to wash out that mouth if I hear that kind of filth again. Those are respectable ladies you are talking about."
"And also," Sonny scolded, turning to point at Metal still channeling mad daddy. "Don't call this one 'sir' outside of the field unless he's giving you an order or asking a direct question. It will go to his head and make him think he's in charge of something."
"I like the ring of 'sir' coming from your little minion," Metal said. "Not tonight, because he looks like he needs to be put to bed ASAP, but maybe this weekend let's take him on his maiden voyage to Foxy's."
"Are you high, Metal?" Sonny scoffed. "This one is clearly not ready to meet my girls. And I'm gonna check this supposed legit ID myself, because I have a hard time believing he is a day older than nineteen."
"I believe him," Metal said. "I can tell he's not a good liar. And these kids today are sheltered and coddled. They aren't mature like you and I were at twenty-one."
"Oh, yes," Trent scoffed sarcastically. "You two were the picture of mature manhood at twenty-one. You barely can be considered adults now. And you are both more than old enough to be this boy's father. So maybe let's show a little self-restraint and good judgment when the kid is in the room."
"That's what we have Mama Trent and Daddy Jason for," Metal snorted. "Self-restraint and good judgment. Our job is to be the fun uncles."
"The 'fun uncles'?" Jason rolled his eyes.
"Yes," Metal said, patting Sonny's back. "We are the fun uncles. And when Uncle Sonny decides Ponyboy here is ready, we will take him to Foxy's and introduce him as our orphaned nephew from Iowa."
"Oh brother," Sonny said admiringly. "That is a genius idea. My girls love a good hard luck case. And this kid is a perfect mix of helpless and adorable. He's like a lost puppy. Our own little hot chick magnet."
"We'll be getting laid in the shade Uncle Sonny," Metal said, winking at the kid.
"Okay," Trent said, annoyed. "How about you two 'grown adults' head over to The Bulkhead and get us a table. First round is on me. I need to stop home and see what the hell is happening with Janice, and then I'll meet you for a drink before I cash out for the night. It's been a long ass two months."
Trent turned to Jason with the kid still wrapped in his arms looking like he might fall asleep standing up. "You're gonna get him back to his dorm?" The medic confirmed. "I'd take him home to spend the night in my spare room, but I have no clue what frame of mind my wife will be in when I arrive."
"Don't fret about the kid," Jason said, reaching over and peeling him off his obviously stressed out brother. "I've got him. If you don't want him back in the dorm tonight, I'll take him home with me and put him to bed in Mikey's room."
"Yeah, Jase," Trent sighed. "I'd feel better about that for now at least. He's had it. God knows what's happening in his dorm tonight. He needs to decompress, sleep and eat a solid breakfast in the morning. He's lost weight since we left."
"Brock," Jason said, taking the kid's chin to focus his attention. "What's the name of that kid you live with? Tony? Do you know if he's here on base or spun up?"
"Tommy?" Brock asked, still looking confused. "Um. I don't know, Boss. He's on my team. Well, I guess he's not anymore. He's on the team that used to be my team. Eight. I don't know where they are."
"Oh yeah, Jason," Sonny said, suddenly all business and reaching over to pat the boy's head gently. "This one is not dorm ready. He's gonna need at least twelve hours in dreamland and three good meals tomorrow before we can even think about sending him back. If he's not ready tomorrow and you need some time, call me and I'll come pick him up. No nonsense. He can spend the night eating pizza and watching age appropriate TV on my couch."
"What's today?" Brock asked, looking up at Trent. "Is it Tuesday? Or Wednesday?"
"It's Thursday afternoon," Trent said, shaking his head at Jason. "It was Wednesday night, their time, when we left Syria. Now it's Thursday. And you, kiddo, are going home with the boss. You mind Jason, get some good sleep, and I'm gonna stop by tomorrow morning to check on you. Got it?"
"Yes, sir," Brock answered quietly.
"He should be okay," Trent said to Jason who looked concerned. "It's been a lot for his first official mission as Bravo Six. We're off all next week and he can get caught up on his sleeping and eating. There's paperwork, getting him set up with his cage. But we can take it slow, just let him chill out and relax. This was a hard one, but he did good, and he's gonna come around fine."
"Copy that," Jason said, pulling the kid into his side.
"Okay, Six," Jason smiled, kissing the kid's head. "Let's get the hell out of here."
Brock ended up staying with Jason through the weekend. He didn't seem eager to leave, his former team and current roommate were back in Afghanistan for the rest of the month, and Jason made the executive decision to keep him in Mikey's old room until decisions could be made about his living arrangements now that he was officially Bravo.
"You sure you don't mind me staying with you?" Brock asked hesitantly during a dinner of spaghetti and meatballs Jason had whipped up for them both on Sunday afternoon. "I mean, it's great here with you, but I'm sure you finally got the whole place to yourself and I don't want you to feel like you need to babysit me. I'm okay alone in the dorm. I mean there's people everywhere, so I'm not alone even without Tommy."
Jason chuckled at the kid who was rambling.
"I want you to stay, son," Jason assured him. "It's no fun alone in a dorm surrounded by guys who are now living in a completely different situation than yours. I get that. This last deployment was tough - I get that too. So unless you're trying to gently tell me that you want the hell out of the old folks home, you are always welcome here. And the truth is that I miss having Mikey here with me. So you're doing me a favor."
Brock smiled at him.
"I don't know if having me tagging along, eating your food, watching your TV and yapping in your ear is actually a favor to you," Brock said sincerely. "But, if you really don't mind having me, I think I'd feel better staying a little longer. And I really appreciate this."
"I really don't mind," Jason promised. "And knowing you are not alone is a great weight off Trent's back too. And he most definitely doesn't need any additional stress right now. If you haven't noticed, he's officially adopted you as his kid. Which if you didn't know means you are the luckiest poor orphan from Iowa that I've ever met."
"Do you think Sonny is really mad that I said the ladies at Foxy's are hookers?" Brock looked nervous. "That's what all the guys in the dorms say. I didn't know Sonny hangs out there."
"Sonny's not mad at you," Jason chuckled. "He's just teasing. He's decided that you are under his protection now, and anyone other than him who gives you a hard time will most definitely be sorry. Scolding, bitching and grouching like a mean old southern daddy is how The Mighty Quinn shows affection."
"Is Trent okay, Boss?" Brock looked worried, and very young, when he made eye contact with Jason. "When Sonny picked me up yesterday to hang out at his place, I wasn't trying to eavesdrop or mind anyone's business, but Nate showed up to watch the game, and he and Sonny were ignoring me and talking like I wasn't sitting in the same room."
Jason smiled, shaking his head.
"Kiddo, you are going to get a lot of that now that you are officially our new rookie," he explained. "You are a decade younger than the usual SEAL moving up to tier-one. And Trent was correct back on base when he said that we are old enough to be your father - you are younger than my own kids."
Jason paused to let that sink in. He got up and took the kid's plate to add more pasta before sitting back down and continuing to explain. "There is no better team than Bravo, and you are family now. We are going to look out for you and teach you everything we know, but the downside of being the new baby is that you are going to get scolded and fussed at a lot. Talked about like you aren't right there, and told to sit down and keep your mouth shut. Ordered around by everyone and expected to do as you're told without any back talk - or else. You understand what I'm saying, son?"
Brock nodded. "Yes, sir," he said respectfully. "Follow the big boys, do what you're told, mind your manners, and keep your opinions to yourself. Don't repeat what you hear from the grown-ups, and if you step out of line you're gonna be sorry. I get it. Back home in California I was the youngest of five. My parents are old enough to be my grandparents. My youngest sister was almost ten when I was born, and my oldest brother is Ray's age. I understand the assignment."
"Good," Jason said. "And being the baby can be a pretty good gig if you just accept and roll with it. Back in Buffalo, I was the oldest of five boys. My youngest brother was spoiled rotten and could do no wrong in our eyes. We looked out for him, always. Kept him out of trouble and his little ass from getting worn out on a regular basis. He was a handful to be sure. But I love him to death, and if he needs me, he knows I'm only a phone call away. I'd do anything for him."
Brock nodded, looking down at his plate. "Sonny told Nate to leave Trent be, and not act like his usual sarcastic-ass self when we go back to work next week," he said, quietly. "Sonny said that when Trent got home on Thursday the power was shut off and there was no heat. He said the wife was gone and left a note that she was going back to some old boyfriend. Do you think Trent is okay? Maybe we should go check on him or something."
"Hey, look at me, Shorty," Jason said gently, recognizing that the boy was fretting over his best caregiver and new step-mama.
When the kid did as he was told and looked up from his dinner, Jason continued calmly.
"Trent is a grown-up, and unlike you, he's been around this block for many years and can take care of himself. He knows where we are if he needs us. But, Trent is a smart guy, and he saw this coming. He's seen a lot worse times than this. He has a family who loves him, we have his back always. I promise Trent knows that."
"That Janice must be crazy to leave someone like Trent," Brock said, the hero-worship clear in his unwavering loyalty to the man who immediately took him under his wing without hesitation. "Sonny says she's a royal bitch."
Jason shook his head. "Sonny says a lot that he surely knows he should keep to himself," Jason said. "And I don't expect to hear you talking about women like that. It's disrespectful, and I can see you have been raised better. You hear me, young man? Because I'm not having that. And you can sure as shit bet that Trent won't have it either."
"Yes, sir," Brock said, duly chastised. "I'm sorry. It's just Trent is there for everyone. And he takes care of me like I'm his own kid. It hurts my heart to think of him coming home thinking she would be there on base like the other wives, and then he goes to check on her and she leaves a note that she's ditching him. And there's no lights or heat. I mean is he just sitting there alone, freezing in the dark?"
When he looked up, Brock had tears in his eyes. He was getting himself worked up, and it hit Jason again just how young and clueless this kid really was. He was barely out of high school, away from a small, rural town and his family for the first time. Brock was smart and raised right. He was well trained and knew his shit in the field, but he was still a kid.
Brock held his own in Afghanistan and Syria, but he had been clearly treading water, trying not to sink. When Trent reached out offering support, the boy latched on without hesitation, and he'd been attached to the older man ever since. Now Jason could see that he was legitimately hurt on Trent's behalf and fretting that he might not be okay. The kid was not old enough to understand the complexities of adult marriages and he had zero knowledge of the strength and independence it took to be the wife of a Navy SEAL tier-one operator.
"Okay, honey. You need to take a breath and calm down," Jason said, gentle and firm. Bravo One reached over and squeezed his new kid's forearm to help ground him. "Trent is going to be fine. He stopped by to check on you Friday morning but you were dead to the world."
"Trent was here?" Brock asked, surprised.
"Yes," Jason confirmed. "Trent was here. He has been my brother since before you were born, and if I wasn't sure he was okay, I wouldn't be sitting here eating spaghetti with you now. He's sad that Janice is gone, but Brock, it's a really complicated situation that I don't expect you to understand. All you need to know is that Trent has his shit under control. And if I know my brother, which I surely do, he's sitting somewhere right now probably worried about his new best kid and how he's doing after his first official mission in the Hell-zone with the first string, varsity guys."
"You think so, Jase?" Brock asked, looking for reassurance that everything was okay.
"I know so, son," Jason said firmly. "And he's not alone, freezing in the dark. He has a cabin about an hour from here. He's holed up there, fishing, sitting by the fire, reading and laying low until the power is back on at his place. He's fine. And we are going to give him some time to sort this out on his own. Capice?"
"Yes, sir," Brock said. "As long as you say everything is okay, I'm good."
"Well, that's a relief to me," Jason smiled. "Because I promise you that everything is fine."
The following Monday, when Bravo was back at work on base, Brock went back to his room in the dorms. A week after that, Tommy returned with Team Eight from Afghanistan and Brock found himself surrounded by his friends. His former Team was off for a few days, which meant that Tommy along with another friend of theirs and some guys they knew from different support teams and a few others who had various jobs on base were pumped up for the weekend and looking for a good time off base.
Brock was never a big party guy, but he was comfortable going along with the guys he knew and trusted who had been his friends since being stationed in Virginia. He had always been part of the post deployment blowing off steam that generally involved bar hopping with friends and partying with the local college girls who loved themselves some young Navy guys looking for a good time.
Brock had been lectured by both Jason and Ray about the expectations now that he was officially a tier one operator. He needed to use his head and be in control of himself at all times - do not even think about being near anything illegal. Being officially twenty-one with a legitimate ID was not his cue to become the guy who provided the alcohol for his friends who were still underage. He needed to watch himself with the girls and remember that no immediately means no - and if she is too drunk to reasonably make decisions - he needs to back off and remember he is a U.S. Navy SEAL expected to use good judgment no matter how hot and willing she may be.
When Jason sat Brock down before he delivered him back to the dorm, he had the same pit in his stomach he felt when he left Mikey at Syracuse. And Bravo One delivered a similar speech.
"Brock, you are a good kid and you have been raised to know the difference between right and wrong," Jason said, breaking out and dusting off his dad voice. "I trust you to make good decisions. But son, if something happens and things go sideways for any reason, you need to remove yourself from the situation and call me."
Jason paused, holding eye contact to let his kid know that he was dead serious about this before continuing to speak.
"No matter what happens, or how pissed off you are afraid I'm going to be, you need to call," Jason said. "I can't help you if I don't know you are in trouble. And that's 24/7, Brock. Don't go to Ray or Nate in the middle of the night - they have sleeping wives and children. But if shit hits the fan or you find yourself someplace you don't want to be, you call me or Trent or Sonny at any time, and we will be there."
"Yes, sir," Brock said. "I understand what you're saying. And I promise, I'm not going to let you down."
"I appreciate that, son," Jason said sincerely. "And I know you wouldn't purposely set out to do something you know is wrong. But Brock, I have been young and on the loose, living on base with my friends and no real responsibilities outside of getting my ass to work on time and following orders. Away from home with no parents waiting up for me, no dad to bail me out and kick my ass for being reckless and out of control. And that was a long time ago. This is a different world, and there are serious consequences for your actions. And I know you just barely hit twenty-one, kid. But, being a tier-one Navy SEAL is a lot different than being a kid who checks in weapons on base or a welder doing hull maintenance in the Yard. The expectations and consequences for screwing up are not the same."
Brock sat quietly, letting that sink in. Not wanting to say the wrong thing.
"Do you understand what I'm trying to say here, Brock?" Jason asked, seriously.
"I think so," Brock said slowly. "I need to remember that I'm Bravo now, and I need to think before I act, and I need to act right. And if I screw up, or find myself in a mess, I can't try to cover it up. I need to come to you or one of the other senior guys ASAP and admit what I did so that you know what's happening at all times."
"Yes, son," Jason said. "That's exactly what I'm saying."
That speech from his boss and hero was playing on repeat in Brock's head that Friday night. Jason's words, along with a similar lecture delivered by Trent who had taken him out to dinner and back to his place to spend the night when Jason was stuck on base half the night locked in a briefing room with Blackburn and Ellis. His most loved and trusted big brother had explained the expectations and issued the same clear order to call immediately if he found himself in trouble of any kind.
When he reported back in at the dorms, and spent that first week flying solo in his room and getting acclimated to his new cage and training schedule with Bravo, Brock felt confident that he was ready to handle his new role as tier-one rookie on the most respected team, under the most well-known team leader on the East Coast.
And then Team Eight returned.
Tommy was back in the room, keyed up from several weeks in the sandbox, excited to lead young wannabes in celebration for one of their own getting plucked up by the legend Jason Hayes himself and making tier-one. At just twenty-one-years-old. With no daddy connections in the upper brass, or fancy degree from the Naval Academy. Just their regular, nothing special brother. Quiet, loyal, Brock the dog walker, from middle of nowhere California was Bravo's new rookie. And Brock's brothers were most definitely ready to party.
Despite Brock's attempts to talk down Tommy and their friend Kyle from across the hall, the festivities started in their own room late afternoon on Friday. It was still way early for going out to the bars, guys gradually getting off duty and returning back home to the dorms. Ranging in age from just eighteen and out of basic training to single team guys in their early twenties, kids were wandering in and out of their room on the seventh floor coming back and heading out to grab dinner in the cafeteria.
Since a good chunk of their friends and fellow dorm dwellers were not yet legal drinkers, they were getting a low-risk of being busted jump on the binge drinking with a batch of Kiddie Pool Punch. Tommy had dragged in the floor's shared, hard plastic, blue, fish covered kiddie pool someone long ago had purchased at a local Dollar General. The pool was filled and refilled as the night progressed. Anyone legal or with a good fake ID was expected to show up with a bottle of vodka. If you were less fortunate and not yet in possession of a passable ID, your job was to bring some kind of fruit and a bottle of Hawaiian Punch to add to the mix.
Kiddie Pool Punch was a lot stronger than it tasted. It went down easy and was a fast, cheap buzz to get you started before the sun went down and the real partying started: off base and away from team leaders, officers and night security fun killers.
By the time midnight rolled around, everyone was wasted, Brock included. There was drunken Skeeball in the near deserted, off season Boardwalk arcade, an illegal bonfire on the closed beach, and deep black bruises, that they wouldn't remember getting the next day when they were discovered in the shower, from the mechanical bull at a country bar packed with flannel clad locals.
Brock, Tommy, Kyle and two other random guys that Brock vaguely thought he recognized from one of the tier-one support teams closed down the last bar with Kamikaze shots and really bad Karaoke alongside the smokin' hot sorority girls from Old Dominion who smuggled them into their dorm on campus at 2:00 a.m. when the bar liquor stopped flowing. Brock was drunk off his ass, but he was with it enough to hold back on the late night shots, keeping in mind what both Jason and Trent had drilled into his head about not doing anything to get himself in serious trouble.
Unfortunately, back in the girls' suite on campus, things went quickly to hell. It started in the room of a girl they were calling either Kailee or Kelly. It was all a miserable blur the next morning when Brock woke up in the emergency room with Jason and Trent on either side of his bed looking as if they'd been up all night. Brock felt as if he'd been hit by a truck. His stomach was cramping like someone was jabbing him with knives, and he could barely move his heavy, throbbing head from the pillow.
The first thing he was aware of when he came too was a burning pain in his throat and Jason turning him on his side while Trent held a metal vomit dish under his mouth to catch what seemed to Brock like a never ending stream of red-tinted bile that smelled like the nasty, dirty sea water he remembered from being on an old, rickety pier on a ninety degree day back in California after weeks of drought when the water level was low and the smell of dead fish was both horrible and unforgettable.
The smell induced more nausea, leading to more cramping, puking, choking, dry heaving. It was a painful and disgusting circle of misery that went on for what seemed to Brock like hours. Once he was semi-coherent, and memories of the previous evening's adventures returned, the kid felt even worse than when he first arrived in the ER which he didn't think was possible.
Once Bravo's rookie and his drunken posse arrived in the dorm of the hot girls they'd picked up at their last bar stop, the first thing Brock noticed was the pink. It looked like a vat of strawberry frosting had exploded in the suite which was home to six girls who the Navy boys quickly discovered were more than capable of matching them drink for drink.
When they entered the suite, they found themselves in a large common area with pink futons, giant pink bean bag chairs, a round pick table with painted pink flowers, and a fluffy pink rug.
"We all love pink," a blond girl sporting a short jeans skirt and crop top announced when they entered the suite.
"No shit," Kyle laughed, plopping down on an oversized pink chair. "I never would have guessed."
"Cool fish tank," Tommy said. "They won't let us have these on base in the dorms."
"We aren't supposed to have this either," Kailee or Kelly laughed, crouching down to tap on the glass and show Brock and Tommy her favorite pink striped fish. "We have an empty box to put over the tank and a blanket to cover it up when the RA comes to inspect the room for beer and illegal toasters."
The tank was filled with a variety of small fish, all different sizes and colors. It was decorated with a mini Barbie house and a bunch of Barbie dolls in different outfits.
"That's a lot of fish crammed into a small tank," one of the support guys commented.
"It's way overcrowded," one of the girls said, pulling out a pink cooler hidden under another blanket-covered mystery box. When she pulled off the cover, the cooler was loaded up with ice and bottles of the Jack Daniel's Country Cocktails that were popular with the college girls as well as cans of Bud Light and a full bottle of ice cold Vodka.
"Every time we have a party, someone shows up with more fish to dump in there," a cute redhead Brock couldn't name explained. "It needs to be cleaned out. It's gross in there, but the semester is over in a few weeks, so we're hoping to have some kind of fish giveaway to empty it out. No way we're filling in again next semester."
"It was definitely not our best idea," the seriously tipsy blond laughed. "I don't know what we were thinking. But we need to do something with all those fish before we leave to go home for Christmas."
An hour and several shots later, Bravo Six lost big at Drink or Dare that somehow followed a drunken game of Cards Against Humanity. Brock didn't even remember how it exactly went down, but before he knew what was happening, he accepted a dare from Kyle the dipshit from across the hall to swallow three fish from the dirty tank.
And it went quickly downhill from there. The last thing Brock remembered before standing outside in the cold night wind puking up fish tank water in the bushes outside the dorm was his blind drunk brothers and the pink clad college girls chanting "fish, fish, fish" while dropping the doomed swimmers down his throat.
It was a definite low point for Brock. But by the 'dawn's early light' as the song goes, things had gotten a shit-ton lower according to Sonny's frequent and evermore animated retelling of the 'stupid ass baby rookie's dumb fuck adventure'.
The night air combined with their brother and freshly minted tier-one operator projectile puking dead fish into the bushes quickly sobered up his dorm brothers who were in various degrees of panic mode.
"Holy fuck, Kyle," Tommy said, looking on while trying not to puke himself as a guy they barely knew as tech support for Delta was doing his best to hold up Brock without dropping him in his own puke. "What the fuck are we going to do? Those fish and that disgusting water could be toxic. Should we take him to the infirmary?"
"We are all fucked, including Brock if we show up like this at the base infirmary," Kyle said, pacing and clearly close to full panic. "Maybe he'll be okay once he pukes it all up."
"No way," Tommy said, looking at his now mostly sober friend. "We can't just take him back to the dorm and dump him in bed, Kyle. He looks really bad. And those fucking fish could be poisonous. We need to call someone."
"Who the fuck are we gonna call?" Kyle said. "You wanna call the boss and say 'Hey Commander Sanchez, sorry for the 4 AM wake up call. Kyle and me are drunk outside the girls' dorm at Old Dominion. We just fed our former K9 handler and Jason Fucking Hayes' new rookie a tank full of possibly poison pink fish. What are your thoughts on that?"
The other Delta support kid, who was looking on as his brother was trying to manage the fish puke fiasco, turned to face the two panicking young operators when he heard Hayes' name.
"Calm the hell down," he barked at the other two boys. "Brock is Bravo's rookie? Not support, but one of Hayes' team?"
"Yes," Tommy said. "He's been out with Bravo on a couple trial missions. Then when he was with them just a few weeks back for two months deployed, Hayes' took him on officially as their K9 handler. So yeah - Brock is Bravo. Or he was before this monumental fuck-up. Do you know Hayes? Do you think he's going to dump him for this?"
"We don't really 'know' Hayes," the support kid said. "We've been on a couple short missions with Delta where they were assisting Bravo or vice versa, so we've seen him in action, but he probably has no clue who we are. He scares the shit out of me, and I'm not looking to chat with him. So I don't know if he'd actually dump his rookie for getting drunk and downing a tank of dirty ass fish. But Tommy Boy here is absolutely correct that we are most definitely calling for back-up."
"Absolutely," the guy holding Brock confirmed. "That's the unbreakable rule on tier-one. No nonsense. You always call for back-up when you're fucked."
"Brock," the support kid who'd been talking to Tommy and Kyle crouched down next to his brother and Bravo's rookie. "Hey kid. We need to call for back-up. Who should we call?"
Brock was gagging and holding his belly. The other boys got him relatively upright and walked away from the dorm towards a walkway that led off the campus property. Sitting him down on a bench at an enclosed bus stop, Tommy sat next to his brother and roommate lifting his arm and allowing Brock to rest against his side, closing his eyes and turning into his warmth.
"I don't feel right, Tommy," Brock moaned.
"I know you don't buddy," Tommy said calmly. "Don't worry. We're gonna get you some help. We need to call someone, Brock. Who should we call? Do you want us to call Sanchez?"
"No," Brock whispered. "Call Jason. Or Trent. I'm in so much trouble."
"I have a less terrifying idea," the dark haired support kid said. "I'll call Tim. He knows what the rules are for Bravo. He'll know what to do and who to call."
"I'm supposed to call Jason or one of the senior guys," Brock mumbled, his face buried in Tommy's shoulder. "Jason said call no matter what if I'm in trouble."
"I get that Brock," the support kid rubbed his head to help calm him down. "And we are most definitely reaching out to your boss. But we don't know him, and we do know Tim. You know him, too. He's your support team's leader. He'll call whoever needs to be called and tell us what to do right now. Okay?"
"Okay," Brock whispered softly. "But if Tim doesn't answer, take my phone and call Trent if you're scared to call the boss. Trent won't kick your ass."
"Yeah right," the support kid scoffed, pulling out his phone. "Your medic maybe won't kick your ass. But I'm not looking to be the bearer of bad news who gets his ass beat by one of your bodyguards."
When Jason's phone buzzed at 4:15 A.M. and his support team's leader was on the other end of the line," Jason immediately sat up, knowing this could not be good news.
"Hayes," he answered gruffly. "What's happening Tim?"
"It's your new kid, boss," Tim reported, all business. "I'm on my way to pick up Brock and two of Delta's support kids at a bus stop by Old Dominion."
"What's he doing there?" Jason said, pulling on his jeans and boots. "And why are you calling and not him?"
"I haven't assessed the situation yet, boss," Tim reported calmly. "I'll be there in about five minutes. All I know is that the support kid, Jimmy, his name is, called me a few minutes ago. Said he and another of Delta's kids were out drinking with Brock and some other kids he doesn't know. As I'm guessing you've figured out, it got out of control. They ended up back in the dorms with some girls from Old Dominion."
"I'm going to fucking throttle that kid after I make sure he's okay," Jason fumed, getting in his truck. "Where are we headed, because obviously this is more than just kids getting wasted."
"According to Jimmy," Tim said. "Brock ate several tropical fish and some nasty water from a fish tank on some kind of stupid ass dare. He's drunk and as sick as a dog as you would expect. They were scared of going to the infirmary, but apparently he's spewing tank water and dead fish and they are looking for orders as to what they should do now."
Jason was silent for several long seconds.
"Boss?" Tim said, pulling up to the bus stop. "You still there?"
"Yeah," Jason sighed, shaking his head. "I'm here. Just processing that information. I'm too damn old for dealing with this shit."
"Well, boss," Tim reported, walking toward the clearly anxious boys. "I'm here now. And it's about as bad as you would expect. There's five soon to be very sorry dipshits including yours on the scene. Brock looks like hell, covered in puke and he smells like a sewer in maybe Indonesia. He's gagging, and I think he possibly pissed himself, which is a nice touch."
"How many fish did he eat?" Tim barked at the support kids.
"A lot, sir," Jason heard the kid say through his phone. "He's really sick, and those fish and the water were nasty. We also had a lot of vodka. And there was beer and shots with those girls. We're really sorry, sir. This was stupid."
"You're fucking damn right this was stupid," Tim said. "And you are all in deep shit. But you did the right thing by calling. So there's that."
"Alright Tim," Jason said, starting his truck. "I heard the recap. He needs to be seen by a doctor. Who the fuck knows what kind of bacteria he ingested."
"There's an emergency room here in Norfolk not far from where we are," Tim said. "You want me to take Brock there?"
"Yes," Jason said, pulling out of his lot. "I'm going to pick up Trent and meet you there. I want the other four geniuses there as well. We need to get a completely honest account of everything stupid and possibly illegal that went down tonight. Start dosing them with coffee and make them understand I will lose my shit with them if they even think about lying or bullshitting me."
"Copy that, boss," Tim said. "We're heading to the ER now."
"Are any of the kids from Team Eight there?" Jason asked.
"Two dipshits from Team Eight, Tommy and Kyle," Tim reported. "And two sad sacks from Delta support, Jimmy and Mark. And I wouldn't give a dirty nickel for their sorry asses when Decker hears about this shit show."
"Okay," Jason said. "You just worry about getting Brock checked in and sorted out. Don't leave him alone until we get there. Sit those other four in the waiting room and tell them they better not think of moving a muscle. And tell them both Decker and Sanchez will be arriving soon. That should sober them up quick as when your daddy gets called home from work to pick you up at the principal's office."
"Yes, sir," Tim said. "Pulling in the emergency lot now. See you soon."
Trent was standing in the driveway holding two cups of coffee when Jason pulled up to get him.
"Who the fuck is going to listen to Sonny and Metal for the next month when they get wind of this?" Jason bitched. "You know I already love this little shit. And I let myself get attached, but I don't know if I've got the stamina to deal with this ridiculous immature bullshit anymore. I beat Mikey's ass for this kind of stupidity the summer before he left for college. I was sure my belt was retired from action, but if I had my hands on him right now, our young rookie wouldn't be sitting comfortably until Wednesday at the earliest."
"I know boss," Trent said. "This is typical dorm kid nonsense. And Brock is going to need to learn the hard way that if he's serious about being tier-one, that is not his life anymore. And I'm really concerned, more about the filthy water than the fish themselves. If he was already violently sick, it's almost sure he's going to need immediate treatment for bacterial infection. And it's not going to be pleasant. Our new baby is going to be miserable, in a world of hurt, and very sorry for the next several days."
"According to Tim," Jason said, pulling up by the emergency entrance. "The support tech kid was on the ball enough to pick up a bunch of the dead fish to bring to the doctors so they know what they're dealing with."
"That was good thinking," Trent said, walking quickly next to his brother into the busy early Saturday morning ER. "I know you are more worried about the kid than pissed, so am I. And not to sound like Sonny, but we will definitely laugh about this down the line. I am completely onboard with going full bad cop with all four accomplices, and once we know he's okay and he's not sick as hell, Brock needs to learn that there are harsh consequences he will not enjoy for this kind of reckless behavior and bad judgment. But Jase, keep in mind that we both told him to call if he fucked up or found himself in trouble because we are old enough and smart enough to know that we are dealing with a kid who like all kids is going to make stupid, immature mistakes."
"I hear you Trent," Jason sighed, stopping outside the waiting room to get a look at the four haggard looking boys who were waiting for the adults to arrive and the other shoe to drop on them hard. "And I understand that this is going to be a huge adjustment on the heels of a hard deployment for an incredibly young kid to manage. And once we get past the ER and get our kid healthy, we need to seriously reconsider the best living arrangements going forward. Because we both should have known dropping him back in the dorm with his barely legal friends and former teammates was asking for trouble."
"Yep," Trent sighed. "You were busy being the boss, and I was caught up with the Janice drama. But now we need to think this through and come up with a solid plan for our new kid moving forward."
"Copy that, brother," Jason said, putting on his dead serious dad face and approaching the four scared kids waiting on the bench."
"Give em' hell, Boss," Trent said. "I'm going to find Tim and see what the story is with the kid. I'll text and let you know when I find them. And heads up - Decker and Sanchez are incoming so let the ass kicking begin."