He glanced over at the bartender, who had begun preparing his workstation for the busy hours to come that evening. Brannigan considered the fact that this serviceman worked behind a bar during his duty hours, never stood watch, never went on combat or reconnaissance patrols and never became involved in firefights with crazy-ass mujahideen. He wondered why such a guy would even think about enlisting in the armed forces. He'd be better off at a resort hotel or maybe an upscale bar in a big city somewhere serving wealthy clients while pulling in big tips. The kid wasn't bad looking either. Maybe he'd find some rich old lady who would keep him in fine style.
Brannigan finished his drink and pushed the glass forward to signal for yet another refill. He glanced up in the mirror behind the bar and saw the reflection of Lisa as she walked into the room dressed in her flight suit. He turned on the stool and smiled. "Hey."
"Hey," Lisa replied. She walked up and kissed him on the mouth. "Welcome home."
"Same to you," Brannigan replied. He studied her face, noting that she displayed no animosity. She even seemed glad to see him. "Care for a drink before we leave?"
She smiled. "What's the matter, sailor? Not horny after a long absence? I'm suspicious."
Brannigan grinned. "I just wanted the honor of having a cocktail with the prettiest pilot in the United States Navy."
"I think that would be a guy named Brucie I know of in an F-14 squadron."
"Oh yeah?" Brannigan said. "How about introducing me to him?"
"You haven't been gone that long," Lisa said, laughing. "Now shut up and order me a Black Label on the rocks." Brannigan signaled to the bartender.
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BRANNIGAN RESIDENCE
CORONADO, CALIFORNIA
1900 HOURS LOCAL
THE couple's lovemaking had been intense and passionate, but with a touch of tenderness too. Neither spoke a romantic word as they took pleasure in the act, letting their physical actions express the love they felt for each other.
Now, following their custom of having a beer during the post-physical period of sexual intercourse, Brannigan and Lisa sat up in bed, leaning back on pillows propped against the headboard. Neither one spoke as they enjoyed the somatic comfort brought on by a combination of the lovemaking and the beer. It was Brannigan who broke the silence.
"The platoon was in a sort of hairy situation out there a couple of weeks ago."
Lisa looked over at him. This was how Bill always began when he wanted to relate one of his combat experiences that had been particularly dangerous. The man was a master of the understatement. She asked, "What happened?"
"We had our backs to the wall and all of a sudden we got this call over the radio," he said. "It was a Navy aircraft wanting to know if we could use a hand." He tipped up his bottle and drained it, then reached over to the six-pack on the bed stand for another. "It was a Prowler."
"No kidding?"
"No kidding. Just like what you and your squadron fly. He called in some Air Force F-16s to give us some support," Brannigan said. "They saved our asses."
Lisa knew her fright about the incident was belated, but she still felt a stab of nervousness, even though everything had obviously turned out fine. "Well! That was lucky, huh?"
"When the dust settled, I had to admit to myself I felt like the quintessential asshole for being such a shit heel toward your friends."
"They admire you, Bill," she said. "They really do." "I find that hard to believe."
"My colleagues aren't idiots," Lisa said. "They know you lead a tough life, and they cut you slack. We do it for each other too when one of us is on edge."
"What about that guy I threw over the hors d'oeuvre table?"
She grinned. "I'll admit I was upset about that when it happened. So was everybody else. But we talked about it the next day and everyone agreed he had it coming. The guy's an asshole, Bill. He's an egotistical son of a bitch with a big mouth who's full of himself. You taught him a pretty good lesson." Now she laughed out loud. "God! He looked so fucking stupid with that food all over him."
"I can't remember what he said, but it really pissed me off," Brannigan said. He stretched contentedly. "Anyhow, I'm a lot wiser after those fly guys gave us a hand. My sophomoric attitude toward other branches of the service is fading away. Hell! Everyone does his bit, as our friends the British say. Without each part the whole would fail."
"That's quite a statement coming from a SEAL," Lisa remarked.
"I'll make you a promise," he said. "I'm going to make an extra special effort to be nice to your friends at the squadron functions."
"I'm going to hold you to that," Lisa said, nudging him. "But the next time I'm at a SEAL party, I'm going to throw one of your guys over the hors d'oeuvre table to get even."
Brannigan chuckled. "Do it to Senior Chief Dawkins, okay?"
.
BASE CHAPEL
NAVAL AMPHIBIOUS BASE
CORONADO'S, CALIFORNIA
17 SEPTEMBER
1030 HOURS LOCAL
A table draped with bunting had been placed in front of the altar. Photographs of Petty Officer First Class Adam Clifford and Petty Officer Third Class Kevin Albee had been set up on it along with two display boards. Each bore the awards, decorations and qualification badges the two SEALs had earned in training and combat.
The pews in the small building were completely filled. The survivors of Brannigan's Brigands sat along the front. The wives of Lieutenant Bill Brannigan, Petty Officer Michael Concord, Petty Officer Frank Gomez, and Petty Officer Gutsy Olson were among the group. Salty and Dixie Donovan; Commander Thomas Carey, N3 operations officer; Lieutenant Commander Ernest Berringer, N2 intelligence officer, and other personnel and families of the base SEAL teams filled the rest of the seats. The chaplain had just finished his invoca, tion and opening prayers, and now Brannigan walked to the front of the small room. He turned to face the audience.
"We're here this morning to say farewell to our shipmates Adam Clifford and Kevin Albee. They have given their lives in the service of their country, making that most unselfish of all sacrifices that so many fine men and women of the United States Navy have done over countless wars and conflicts in American history. Petty Officer Clifford, as many of you know, spent his boyhood in the nation's capital, where his father served in the Justice Department as a federal attorney. Cliff was a career Navy man, having shipped over for the second time just before his last mission. He was a good man, quiet and steady, who was always at the forefront of the action. He'll be sorely missed by the platoon, and the world is a little poorer now without his presence.
"Petty Officer Kevin Albee demonstrated the unlimited devotion he had for the service when he died risking his life to save his comrades. Without any regard for his own personal safety, he exposed himself to shoot down an enemy helicopter gunship that was strafing our positions on West Ridge. He was killed in this effort that was truly beyond and above the call of duty. I submitted his name for an award of the Silver Star, and I'm happy to report that earlier this morning I received word that this posthumous award has been approved by the Department of the Navy.
"I, as their commanding officer, am saddened by the loss of those brave men. My grief is eased somewhat by the pride I have from serving with them and other fine men of the United States Navy's SEALs. For that honor I shall be eternally grateful."
Brannigan ended his discourse and went back to his place beside Lisa. Lisa, wearing the service dress blue uniform of her rank, reached over and took her husband's hand.
Next, Cliff and Kevin's two fire team leaders, Lieutenant James Cruiser and Chief Matthew Gunnarson, came up together, and each made additional remarks in regards to two fine shipmates who gave their lives so far away from their native land while serving and protecting their people.