Grant and Adler were the last to walk out. Adler tugged on Grant's arm, pulling him back near the front door. "I guess you didn't get much sleep last night."
"Not much. I even took a walk around the house, trying to clear my brain, trying to decide what the hell to do."
"You mean whether to talk to Luke?"
"Yeah."
"Well, you said Angie didn't seem to mind if you did."
"It'd take the responsibility off her shoulders, wouldn't it?" Grant answered with unmistakable sarcasm. "After a freakin' 22 years, she never even said a word to that kid."
"Or you," Adler added, to which Grant didn't respond. "Was she gonna talk with her husband, I mean, about your phone call?"
"She said she would, but I told her I wouldn't cause any problems. Why would I?"
"Let me ask you something. If she told you she was pregnant, what would you have done?"
Grant poked a finger against Adler's chest. "The point was, Joe, that she didn't give me a damn chance to decide. She made the decision. It's a moot issue anyhow."
"Either way, Skipper, you've gotta tell him." Grant walked down the steps without replying.
Ten minutes later two black Chevy Suburbans pulled in front of the Quonset huts. The 40 trainees, who were lined up in front of the huts, snapped to attention immediately when they saw the vehicles.
The men of A.T. got out then gathered behind the second vehicle. They tried to avoid paying too much attention to the young men, who were between 21 and 26 years of age, with a few closer to 30. They wore sweatsuits, black, blue or gray, and as instructed, they all had black combat boots.
"That's a good sign, boss," Novak smiled. "They're all ready for 'bear'!"
"I think we've got a good bunch of men, Mike. You all did a great job making the selections. But now we've got our work cut out for us. They're expecting us to train them to the best of our ability, to bring out their best. Are you all ready?"
The men of Team Alpha Tango responded, with their voices rising loudly and in unison: "Hooyah!"
Hearing the former Navy SEALs, the trainees felt a sudden rush of excitement, ready to meet the challenge head-on.
Team A.T. lined up, standing at parade rest in front of, but several feet away from the trainees. Grant stepped forward, letting his eyes roam across the rows of young men.
"Morning, gentlemen." A few scattered murmurs of "morning" were heard, as puffs of exhaled breath dissipated quickly in the cold air. Grant tilted his head, then said with his voice raised, "I didn't hear you!"
"Morning, sir!"
"Morning. At ease." He waited for a moment, then said, "We'd like to officially welcome you to the Eagle 8 Training Facility.
"You met most of us when you arrived, but we'll go through it again. I'm Captain Stevens, and these are your instructors." One by one, A.T. called out ranks and names.
Grant continued, "Let me go over a few things. As you were previously told, this training hasn't been endorsed by the SEALs in any way. However, we did discuss with both Little Creek and Coronado what our objectives were and how we planned on going about achieving them.
"Now, we realize you're definitely here for the physical aspect of the training, but we also want to build your confidence, and hopefully instill in you some valuable lessons to take with you throughout your lives. As you expect a certain level of excellence from us, we expect an even higher one from you.
"Next. I probably don't need to remind you, but you will always address us by using our rank, followed by our name, and/or 'sir.' On the other side of that, your rank matters little to us. To put it simply, you're all 'squids.' We will address you by whatever we feel is appropriate at the time.
"Reveille is 0500, every morning, no matter what the weather. But keep in mind, that time can be adjusted at our discretion, without notice." A few groans. "You have a problem with that?!"
A collective, "No, sir!" resounded among the ranks.
"That's what I thought. Moving forward, lights out by 2200, unless, of course, we have other activities planned.
"As far as meals, you'll have three squares a day. Those times were listed in your handouts. Don't worry — we have no intention of preparing those meals." Indicating with a thumb over his shoulder, Grant smiled, "Although, Lieutenant Adler here is pretty famous for … well, actually, he's famous mostly for his appetite more than food prep skills!" Team A.T. smiled and nodded in agreement.
"I hope you also noticed in the handouts that there were a couple of verses titled: We Are the Sons of UDT and SEAL Team Navy. Those are cadence songs the SEALs use on their runs. Memorize them."
His eyes swept across the rows of young men, eager to begin. "You've all been to boot camp. Whatever you experienced there, this training will go beyond that. While this training could never compare to BUD/S, we still want it to be more than just that physical experience. But like BUD/S, it'll take more than determination and willpower. Your physical and emotional strength will be tested, and tested everyday. Expect it. A helluva lot will be squeezed into the short amount of time you're here.
"I know there are a few of you who will be trying out for the SEALs. While you're here, we're hoping to help you reach that goal. We want to prepare you for the reality of what it takes, preparing your body and mind." He paused, making eye contact with several men. "Whatever personal reason brought you here — whether just for the physical training, or just confidence-building — we want to help all of you.
"Most of you have probably heard the SEAL quote: 'The only easy day was yesterday.'" Heads bobbed up and down. "When you're in BUD/S, especially Hell Week, you'll probably think there's no such thing as an easy day, 'cause everyday will feel like hell. Just ask these guys," he said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder.
"We all experienced Hell Week, and our instructors instilled in us the Team mentality. At the end of our training was the prize, the 'Holy Grail' of BUD/S, the ability to understand the word 'Team.' I can't emphasize that enough." With each word he smacked a fist into his palm: "Team. Teamwork. We expect you to learn that right off, because no matter what career path you intend to follow — Navy or civilian — those two words should always apply." He went silent momentarily, letting those words sink in.
"If physical activity hasn't been a priority in your life, then hell might sound like a better place to be then here," he added with a slight grin, and hearing a smattering of laughter. "Listen, your success hinges on how much you're willing to push yourself — and beyond what you imagined. Just by your being here proves you have some level of confidence. But here's another word to consider. Motivation. How much do you have? Are you willing to motivate your buddies even though you're dogged tired, ready to puke your guts out, and worn down to parade rest? Well, you'd better be. Remember — you're a team.
Again Grant paused, then continued. "We've requested that some of you return after your enlistments end. You've already had experience in SCUBA and have made jumps. But I can guarantee that if you decide to return, the difficulty of your training will increase twofold, because Eagle 8 isn't our only training ground. We'll take you where the temperature exceeds 120°, and another where it can plunge below -40°. All I'll say to you is be prepared to meet the new challenges.
"Okay. Change of pace." Grant motioned toward Stalley. "Doc Stalley is our corpsman. He'll handle all minor physical problems." Grant pointed his index finger toward the trainees. "Let me say this, if you sustain an injury — and I'm talking more than a blister or cut — don't try to work through it. And don't try to conceal it. Your body is your responsibility. You see Doc asap. Do I make myself clear?!"