Everything about the mission had finally reassembled in his brain. The POWs were no longer POWs, but were free men. He, Joe, Grigori, and Tony were able to make it happen. He would probably never find out if they were the same men from the failed mission in ’75. It no longer mattered. His second chance made it right.
Every mission he’d ever been on is filed away in his brain, there to be pulled out on a moment’s notice. Except this mission, this rescue, has affected him like no other. The faces of those men will remain with him for as long as he lives.
And then there was Grigori. He still couldn’t quite believe Grigori and Alexandra were in the States. How many times they talked about it, joked about it. They’d been there as long as he’d been in the hospital. Five weeks to get acclimated to a brand new way of life, with new identities, with just about new everything. He was eager get home.
He took another bite from the burger when he heard a voice. “Excuse me.”
He looked up. It was the boy he noticed earlier. Trying to swallow his mouthful of burger, he helped it along with a gulp of milk. Wiping his mouth with a paper napkin, he finally asked, “What can I do for you?”
“That’s my dad over there.” Grant looked at the father and acknowledged him. “He said I could come over and talk to you. I’d like to sit with you for a little while, if that’s okay.”
“Sure!” Grant pulled a chair out and moved his cap to another. He extended a hand to the boy. “By the way, I’m Grant.”
“I’m Chris.” A nervous smile crossed his young face, revealing a row of white crooked teeth. He brushed a hand across his forehead, pushing aside blond curly hair.
“So, Chris, you and your dad headed back to the States?”
Chris nodded. “We’re flying back to D.C.”
“No kidding? That’s where I’m going. Is that where you live?”
“No. We’re from Indiana. My mom and little sisters are at home waiting for us.”
Grant noticed the boy seemed a bit nervous. He pushed his plate away, then leaned back. “Is there something you want to ask me, Chris?”
“You’re a Navy SEAL, aren’t you?”
There was a slight curve to the right side of Grant’s mouth. “Yeah. I am. Guess you noticed the ‘Budweiser’ here,” he said as he pointed to the gold insignia on his jacket.
“‘Budweiser’?” Chris frowned.
“Yeah. ‘Budweiser’ is the nickname for the SEAL insignia, the Trident. It looks like the Budweiser beer emblem, doesn’t it?”
“I guess so,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “My dad likes Pabst Blue Ribbon.”
Grant laughed. “Nothing wrong with that!”
He took some extra time and explained the Trident and how the name “SEAL” was derived. “Tell you what. Once we’re underway, you come and find me. If you want, I’ll answer any questions you have about the Teams and Navy, okay?”
“I’d like that,” Chris answered with a grin. Then he glanced over at his dad.
“Something else on your mind?” Grant asked with a raised eyebrow.
Chris turned serious, lowering his head briefly as he started to say, “I’ve sorta been… well, I’ve sorta been a screw up the past couple of years.” He quickly added, “I don’t mean I’ve been in jail or anything like that! Just… stuff.” Innocent blue eyes looked up at Grant.
“Most of us probably have done some weird, questionable stuff during our lives, Chris, especially when we were young. Sounds like you’ve already taken a big step by recognizing that. It’s all part of growing up, you know?”
Chris nodded, seeming a little embarrassed at revealing his personal problem to a stranger… and a Navy SEAL. “My dad was in the Army, but I never really paid much attention to military stuff, and I really didn’t know anything about you guys until… until recently.”
“You’ve probably got more important things to do, anyway. How old are you? About fifteen?” Chris nodded. “Well, high school can be a great time in your life. Are you into sports?”
“Play baseball, second base.”
“Busy position, second base! I got stuck in center field!” Grant laughed, then said, “Hey! You thinking about joining up after college?”
“College? Would I hafta go to college?”
Grant laughed again. “Of course not. But I’d bet you’d make good officer material, and college will help get you there.” Chris just looked at him. “Uh-oh. Am I sounding like mom and dad?”
“No. No. It’s just… college, you know? More school.”
“Look. You’ve got time to think about it. You’ll make the right decision when the time comes. I’m sure your folks will help you.”
“I guess so.” He looked over at his dad. “Well, I think I’d better get back to my dad.” He pushed his chair back then stood, as did Grant. “Do you think I could write to you once in awhile?”
“Sure,” Grant said, reaching for a napkin. He took a ballpoint pen from a pocket inside his dress blues jacket. “Here’s my address.” He handed him the napkin. “Why don’t you give me yours?” Chris scribbled his name and address, then slid the napkin to Grant, as he watched him. Grant spun the napkin around. He tried to interpret the writing. “Is that Southern, or…?”
“It’s Southere.”
“Okay, Chris Southere. I’ll watch for your mail. Maybe I’ll see you on the plane.” He extended his hand, and Chris reached for it. Suddenly, a strange feeling went through Grant, and he rolled the name around in his mind. Southere. “Chris Southere,” he quietly repeated under his breath, as he looked again at the napkin. Then, he snapped his head up, looking directly at Chris, holding onto the boy’s hand, not letting it go.
Just from the way Grant repeated his name, by the look on his face, Chris knew. “You’re one of them, aren’t you? You’re one of them who saved my uncle.” Grant was stunned. What were the odds of this chance encounter? Chris waved his dad over to the table, as he smiled and nodded.
The man was about six feet tall, close to Grant’s height, with dark blond hair, cut short in military style. He took long strides over to where his son was waiting.
Chris made the introductions. “Dad, this is Grant.” He looked at the napkin for a last name. “Grant Stevens. Grant, this is my dad, Alex.”
Alex Southere noticed the stripes on Grant’s jacket sleeve. “It’s ‘Captain’ Stevens, Chris. See those four gold stripes on his sleeve?”
Grant offered his hand. “Nice to… ” Alex took hold of his outstretched arm and pulled Grant against him. Grant let out a lowgrunt from a sudden pain in his shoulder and ribs.
“God bless you, Captain Stevens! God bless you!” The man held Grant like a vice. He finally stepped back, holding onto Grant’s shoulders, again with a firm grip. Grant lowered his right shoulder slightly, reaching for it with his left hand.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Alex said, as he wiped at his eyes. “Don’t know my own strength sometimes.”
“Don’t worry about it, sir.”
Alex stared at Grant for what seemed like a long minute. It was then he noticed recent scars on Grant’s face, before he commented, “You’re the one.”
Grant asked with a quizzical expression, “The one, sir?”
“Yes. You’re the one who was in the hospital when my brother and the other men started undergoing their examinations. There were rumors a Navy SEAL was brought in because of injuries he received when… ” He decided he’d said more than enough. After all, they were just rumors. “We tried to see you but they wouldn’t allow us in. Naturally, we couldn’t find out your name.”