The Hurghada airport was still operating its commercial side, and he could see that the military area was still armed to the teeth, ready for a fight if the deal with Iran fell through. The chartered bird sat down easily on the concrete apron within walking distance of a gleaming white executive jet bearing the insignia of Excalibur Enterprises, which had been dispatched by Sir Jeff. Once he was welcomed aboard and made comfortable by the hostess, Kyle heard the big Lear’s twin engines whining to life, and it was climbing into the cloudless sky five minutes later.
“Hey,” said Lieutenant Colonel Sybelle Summers when Kyle walked into the inner sanctum offices of Task Force Trident. She didn’t look up from the screen on her computer.
“Hey? That’s all?”
Commander Benton Freedman leaned back in his chair in his adjoining office and looked at him with disinterest. “You back? Want to go over your expense report?”
“Yes, I’m back. Glad you noticed. No, on the expenses.”
Master Gunnery Sergeant O. O. Dawkins walked in from the hallway and punched Kyle hard enough on the arm to knock him sideways, then kept on walking to a big door and announced, “Gunny Swanson, sir.”
“Is he in proper uniform?” asked the gruff voice of Major General Bradley Middleton.
“Yes, sir. He’s in his service alphas.”
“Then haul his ass in here.”
Swanson blew out his cheeks. Not a decent Hello, good job, let’s get a beer in the bunch. He walked into Middleton’s office, came to attention, and reported in.
“You know the commandant?”
For the first time, Kyle was aware of another man, who was rising from the couch by the window, a tall man with neat gray hair and a penetrating set of green eyes that matched his uniform tunic, on which were six rows of honor ribbons, the gold jump wings of a master parachutist, and four silver stars on each shoulder. General Oden Harrison smiled warmly. “Welcome home, Gunny Swanson.”
Kyle was able to stammer, “Thank you, sir. Good to be back and to meet you.”
“Well, thank you, and I thank General Middleton for allowing me to come into his secret bat cave and hang out with the team for a few minutes.” Sybelle, the Lizard, and Double-Oh had filtered into the room and stood alongside the general’s desk. Middleton stood, which surprised the hell out of Swanson.
General Harrison came closer, and in his hands was a small oblong black case, which he used both hands to open. Inside on a bed of purple lay a ribbon of dark blue with a white stripe down the middle and a gold medal beneath it. “I’m proud to represent the president of the United States today in awarding you the Navy Cross for your actions against an enemy of the United States.”
Kyle could feel the blood rushing to his face in a blush, but he controlled himself. He accepted the medal and shook the commandant’s hand.
“You saved an untold number of lives and helped prevent a possible war,” said Harrison. “It was an outstanding performance, son. Just outstanding.” The general paternally slapped him on the shoulder. “Medal of Honor and now two Navy Crosses, two Silvers, and one Bronze with a V. You’re going to have more medals than Chesty Puller before you’re done.”
The Trident team let out a round of cheers and applause, and the general made his good-bye and left.
“Dawkins, open that bottle of champagne,” ordered Middleton, moving to his wall safe. “And you, Swanson, give me that damned medal. You can’t wear it for a year or two until this heat blows over. The citation goes in your classified file, and even that is redacted so that it doesn’t show much more than your name.”
Kyle reluctantly handed it over. “I just got it and you’re taking it back? How’s that work?”
“Awww. Come and cry on Mommy’s shoulder,” said Sybelle as she wrapped him in a hug.
A cork popped, Dawkins poured glasses for each, and they toasted Kyle’s return. “Good stuff,” said General Middleton, wiping his mouth. “Now everybody take a seat and let’s get going on a preliminary debrief, all the way back to the sniper attack on the Maryland shore. Just the overview first, Kyle, then I can go brief the White House, where the Man is waiting for word. After that, we can get to the details. You know the drill.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Since you can’t wear the Navy Cross for a while, is there anything that we can give you? The president will probably let you have South Carolina or Idaho if you want it.”
Kyle unbuttoned his green jacket, knowing this was going to be a long session. “I’ll settle for two weeks of vacation.”
“Back to the beach and your cheerleader girlfriend Maddy?” teased Sybelle.
“You’re dating a cheerleader?” Dawkins curled his lips in distaste.
“My last vacation was interrupted,” Kyle said.
“Good enough. Two weeks’ leave. Permission granted,” said the general.
“After the expense report,” added the Lizard.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Author photo credit: Jack Coughlin by Dave Eckenberg, Tumbleweed Photos, Yucca Valley; Donald A. Davis by Robin Murphy Davis
GUNNERY SGT. JACK COUGHLIN was with the 3rd Battalion, 4th Regiment of Marines during the drive to Baghdad and has operated on a wide range of assignments in hot spots around the world.
DONALD A. DAVIS is the author of twenty-three books, including multiple New York Times bestsellers.