The Military Wife (A Heart of a Hero, #1)(16)

Noah snorted and returned a grin. They finished eating and headed back to their room, not talking much, but the camaraderie that had been planted on their run broke ground and resulted in a comfortable silence.

The next weeks passed much like the first day until it was hard to keep track. It felt like they’d been in the middle of indoctrination forever. Bennett could feel his body changing, growing harder and leaner, but it was easier to see the changes in others. Noah grew skinnier, his cheekbones like blades in his tanned face and his muscles more pronounced.

A couple of guys quit from injuries before indoc was complete. Turned out indoc was a cakewalk compared to First Phase of BUD/S. Intensity jacked up to insanity levels. Heatstroke claimed a few men, still others went out with broken ribs, and one left with a broken arm.

Twenty quit before Hell Week, which marked the halfway point of First Phase. The night before Hell Week, a palpable anxiety rose to frenetic levels.

Bennett tried to sleep, knowing it was the last rest he would get for days, yet he couldn’t shut his brain off. It pinged through his memories. Age nine at a scarred kitchen table being told he’d end up in jail or dead. Age eleven, his first experience at being pulled from a foster home after getting beat up by the man of the house. Age sixteen, the caseworker with the kind eyes who’d placed with him with her uncle, an old Vietnam veteran.

Life pivoted on single moments.

Rustling came from the Noah’s bed. “You got anyone back home, Caldwell?”

Talking about the old man would lead to questions he didn’t want to answer. “A girl, you mean? Nope. You?”

“I don’t know.”

“How do you not know?”

“I met someone right before we shipped out here. She’s leaving for college in a few weeks. Timing’s a bitch.”

The silence deepened.

“Damn, I can’t stop thinking about her, though.” Noah continued softly. “She’s real pretty. Innocent, though, you know? Not like the women hanging out at the bars around the bases.”

The women around the base were perfect in Bennett’s eyes. Sex and no questions. No ties. The heartfelt shit Noah was spouting would only make him weak.

“Put her out of your head and concentrate on getting through tomorrow.”

“Right. I will.” Noah didn’t sound at all convincing. “But this girl, man. Listen to this email she sent me.”

A mini-light clicked on from Noah’s side, and Bennett pulled a pillow over his head.

Noah,

I’m really happy (and a little surprised) to hear from you. I figured you’d ridden (flown) off into the Great Beyond. I have four more weeks in Nags Head before I leave for UNC. My mom says my head and heart have already moved on, and I suppose she’s right. Hope the training isn’t as rough as you’re expecting, but you’ll rock it no matter what. Every time I scoop the mint chocolate chip ice cream, I think of you. Wish Wilbur was still around to fly you a gallon. An older gentleman came in the shop last week. He reminded me of you except forty years from now. He ordered mint chocolate chip and had blue eyes, too. Just as I was getting all teary and nostalgic, the creep hit on me! (Just like you, too. Ha!) Don’t worry, I didn’t let him walk me home. Instead, I gave him directions to the retirement home. Write when you can.…

Harper



Bennett grunted out a laugh. He’d been expecting some sappy love note full of expectations. The girl—Harper—sounded down-to-earth, with more than her share of humor. He hoped Noah made her proud.

Bennett needed to focus. While he liked the kid, it would be hard enough getting himself through Hell Week intact. And to do it, he needed sleep. At some point, he must have drifted off, because an alarm and screaming instructors woke him.

Every warning and story he’d heard about Hell Week couldn’t compare to reality. Until they’d lived through it, no one could understand the strain it put on body and mind. The constant physical stress shredded bodies and the sleep deprivation messed with heads. The mournful clang of the bell rang out time and again at all hours of the day and night and soon the line of abandoned helmets on the grinder outnumbered the men still fighting to survive.

Nights were spent in tents being woken every few minutes. Days were spent running holding heavy inflatable rafts overhead, his shoulders and arms screaming for relief. Hours were spent lying in the surf, locked arm in arm with Noah battling the unrelenting ocean.

Bennett lost track of time, but the sun was beating down on them when they were lined up in front of a bog strung with ropes. The kind of muddy mess he’d lived next to in Mississippi. The problem was he could barely hold himself upright, much less harness the agility needed to cross on ropes.

The first two guys to take it on splatted into the mud. One crawled toward the end; the other turned over and lay like a mudbug in the sun. Bennett and Noah exchanged a glance and slid onto the ropes. Raw blisters along Bennett’s palms sent sharp pains up his arms. It was a mental struggle not to let go.

Noah lost his balance. One foot slipped off and his weight tipped him to the side. He lost his grip and momentum took him to the ground. He fell on his side with a loud grunt.

Bennett continued his shuffle forward. One foot and then the other. “Get the fuck up.”

“My shoulder is toast.” Noah turned to his back, his arm cradled on his chest, his face scrunched. Mud painted every wrinkle of agony.