SEAL Strong Read online

  Silas jumped from bed, his sock-covered feet hitting the cold floor as he reached for his pants.

  Finished dressing, he heard the shouts and the pounding sound of the boots of his teammates in the barrack’s hall. Reaching for his weapons, he knew he never wanted to do anything else.

  He ran into the cool damp air toward the ready room, a few of the other members of the SEAL units on this base beside him. He recognized most, though not all, but this wasn’t the time for a reunion anyway.

  The commander was there when Silas entered. Talley didn’t make them wait to hear what had happened or what their orders would be. Hell, he didn’t even wait for every man to arrive.

  A few stragglers slipped in as he began, “There’s been an air attack. All reports indicate it hit a heavily populated rebel-held area in eastern Aleppo. We’re going in to secure the site and help where we can. Expect heavy casualties.”

  So this was what it had come to. Uncle Sam’s most highly trained special operators, who were brought in to advise and assist in the war against ISIS, were instead acting as first responders because the fucking Russians were hitting civilians under the guise of fighting terrorists.

  “Move out!” the commander ordered as the room erupted in motion.

  As Silas shouldered his way out the door, the lieutenant who’d met him upon his arrival the day before trotted up next to him.

  “You’re in the vehicle with me, lieutenant commander.” He pointed to the Humvee ahead.

  Silas nodded and pivoted to follow the man to the vehicle. He’d just hopped into the passenger seat as the LT took the driver seat, when the back doors opened and two more SEALs piled in.

  Twisting in his seat, Silas turned to see who’d joined them. He nodded to the two SEALs he recognized but didn’t know well. At least not much more than their names. It just reinforced that he’d been gone too long.

  Silas hadn’t even gotten to the reorientation meeting scheduled for zero-seven-hundred this morning.

  No matter. They’d all get to know each other better later. Right now it was time to get back to work.

  Silas turned back to face the windshield while the red glow on the horizon grew larger as they traveled toward the bomb zone.

  He’d thought the situation in and around Raqqa back in 2014 had been bad when he’d been there with the team battling ISIS, but the biblical level of destruction in Aleppo two years later truly made it feel as if they were descending into the depths of Hell as the vehicle bounced over the rough road.

  The sirens, the smoke, the screams . . . Dante himself could have written the scene playing out in front of Silas when they arrived on the outskirts of the area that had been hit hardest.

  It was a literal inferno. But unlike Dante’s seventh circle of Hell, the demons here used Russian warplanes to drop bombs instead of Hellfire in support of the Assad regime. While on the other front, radicals said their prayers before wielding AK-47s and deploying chemical weapons upon innocent women, children and the elderly.

  There were enemies everywhere on the battleground that this country had become—but Silas knew his worst enemy was inside his own head. That was exactly why he’d come here. To purge his personal demons. Toss out the enemies living in the gray matter between his ears. Or at least bury them all so deeply they’d never find their way out.

  The lieutenant slowed the vehicle as he navigated around the rubble and debris—and victims.

  Some were crumpled in the street. Others stumbled, dazed and bloody. Looking for shelter. Looking for loved ones. Looking for escape from the inescapable.

  “Fuck.” The sight had the lieutenant cursing softly beneath his breath.

  Silas couldn’t agree more as he swept the scene with his gaze.

  They approached an obstruction in the road. Their vehicle—and their progress—came to a complete stop.

  A truck, flipped on its side, blocked the road ahead.

  Silas squinted at the pile of rubble and metal being lit by the vehicles headlights as movement caught his attention.

  A glimpse of white fabric. A bit of red. A flash of motion . . .

  He leaned forward and the movement happened again.

  “There’s somebody alive under that truck.” Heart pounding, he reached for the door handle.

  Silas was outside the vehicle and running toward the scene before the others could respond to his comment.

  Counting on his teammates to cover his six, Silas ignored the chaos around him as he dropped to his knees amid the rock shards near the twisted metal.

  A tiny hand and arm were visible and not much more besides the sleeve of a blood and dirt-stained shirt.

  Silas was clawing at the debris with his bare hands by the time the others arrived to help. He pawed away enough of the rubble to be able to grasp the wheel well of the truck.

  Standing, knees bent, he hooked the fingers of both hands beneath the edge of the metal frame and shouted, “Help me lift it!”

  There was barely room to stand. The piled debris formed a mound around the truck that Silas had to straddle just to get a foothold.

  To his left, the lieutenant tried to get a hold on the truck but was having trouble.

  Silas saw the fingers on the small hand twitch, the movement weaker than before.

  There wasn’t any time to wait. This was someone’s child. Some man’s son, just like Jonas.

  This child was helpless and alone. Gasping in an attempt to breathe just like Jonas, but drowning in rubble and the blood filling his lungs rather than swimming pool water.

  But no. It wasn’t like with Jonas, because this time Silas was here.

  He couldn’t save his own son, but he could save this child. With every ounce of strength he had in him, Silas heaved.

  It didn’t move.

  The angle was wrong. He was standing too far from the body of the truck. It was too hard to get a firm footing.

  He kicked at the rubble and managed to get a space cleared big enough for his boots so he could stand on solid ground closer to the truck.

  A small group of men surrounded him now. A few tossed rocks to the side, trying to reduce the pile so they could get closer to the vehicle. Some were SEALs, others civilians.

  Syrians. Kurds. Americans. It didn’t matter who they were or to which side of the conflict they were loyal, they worked together toward a common goal—freeing the child.

  Standing as close to the truck as he could get, Silas grasped the chassis again.

  To his left, the lieutenant was on the ground with his feet braced against the axel that supported the tire in the air as the truck lay on its side.

  On the other side of Silas, a local man had a handhold on the truck’s fender.

  With a nod to Silas the lieutenant signaled he was ready.

  Silas returned the nod and said, “On three. One, two, three!”

  With a groan of determination, Silas lifted.

  He felt the truck move. Felt something in his back pop. Felt the searing heat slice through him.

  Still he held on, keeping the truck off the ground, if even just a few inches as two SEALs scrambled to pull the child out from under it.

  Through the tears of pain Silas saw the tiny bloodied and filthy body emerge.

  “We got him! He’s free.”

  At the words shouted from behind him, Silas released his hold and then dropped to his knees.

  He was draped over a pile of rocks waiting for the pain to subside enough he might be able to stand when a pair of boots came into sight. “Crash? Is that you? Damn, why didn’t I know you were back?”

  Silas recognized the voice, or more the heavy southern accent, if not the generic boots in front of him.

  Brad Carr.

  He’d known the SEAL for years. Since long before Silas had been promoted to lieutenant commander, from back right after BUD/S when almost everyone called him Crash.

  It seemed Silas still hadn’t shaken that damn nickname he’d gotten when he’d had a fender bender wi
th one of the trucks his first year with the teams.

  He couldn’t quite move to look up at his old teammate, but he managed to answer through teeth clenched in pain. “Got here yesterday.”

  “Jesus, you a’ight?” Brad asked.

  Brad was an old friend but it didn’t matter who was asking, stranger or friend, because Silas’s answer would have been the same.

  “Yeah. Fine. Just pulled something. I’ll be okay in a minute.” He tilted his head and saw Brad had dropped down into a squat next to him.

  “You don’t look fine to me.” Brad lifted a brow, which Silas could barely see through the blinding pain.

  Time to suck it up and stand, no matter how badly it hurt.

  If word got around to command he’d blown out his back, they’d yank him off combat duty. He hadn’t come all the way to Syria just to be sent home again one day later.

  He braced his hands against the pile he’d been leaning on and straightened his arms. He pushed but had no strength. It felt like a hot knife searing through his lower back, sending fingers of pain down into his legs.

  Brad’s hand under his arm might have been the only thing that got Silas up on his feet.

  He struggled to stand. Bent like a ninety-year old man, he tried to straighten. He managed a couple of inches before he gave up.

  Finally, he lifted his eyes, if not his head, to glance at Brad.

  By the gray light of dawn Silas saw the concern in Brad’s expression.

  “I think you better get your ass to Medical.”

  “No, I’m all right.” Silas shook his head and was pleased to see his neck still worked fine.

  Just a little lower back issue. Some sports rub, a couple of ibuprofen, maybe a heating pad and he’d be good.

  He remembered the cause of all this and pivoted stiffly to look behind him.

  “Where’s the child?” he asked.

  “They put him in the truck. They’re fixin’ to bring him to the hospital . . . if the hospital’s still standing, that is.”

  One word caught Silas’s attention, twisting his heart.

  Him.

  He raised his gaze to meet Brad’s. “It was a boy?”

  “Yup.”

  Somebody’s son. Just like Jonas.

  “But he was alive? Still breathing?” Silas asked.

  “Weak but still breathing when I saw him, yeah.”

  He’d saved him. Thank God.

  Letting out a breath of relief, Silas nodded. “Good. Good. Thanks.”

  Brad widened his stance and crossed his arms over his chest. “You going to admit you’re hurting now?”

  “I’m not hurt.”

  “A’ight. Then let’s go clear some of them buildings and look for more survivors. Come on.” Brad spun on one combat boot and then glanced back, waiting.

  Silas took one step, then a second.

  Maybe walking would help. He could loosen up the muscles. That would ease the pain and stiffness.

  Sure. That could work.

  Brad led the way, faster than Silas could follow, to a building with the front wall blown out.

  “We gotta clear a path and get inside,” Brad said from ahead.

  Silas caught up and stepped next to him.

  Brad had his hands on a beam that had fallen across the doorway. “Grab the other end of this for me.”

  He did as asked, hooking his hands beneath the wood.

  “On three,” Brad said. “One. Two. Three!”

  Silas heaved as a groan he couldn’t stifle tore from him. He dropped his hold on the beam and collapsed over it.

  “Yeah, I thought so. Fine, my sweet ass,” Brad grumbled. The man never did pull any punches but he was absolutely correct.

  In his current condition not only was Silas no help, he was a hindrance to the team. If the shit hit the fan, he would be a danger to the others. His inability to pull his weight—literally—could cost lives.

  Silas needed to get back to base.

  Fine. He’d go. He’d get an ice pack, or a heating pad, or whatever the hell he was supposed to use to fix whatever he’d done to his back, then he’d be good as new in a couple of days.

  Brad leaned down, putting his face right in Silas’s view. “So, how’s that trip to Medical looking to you now?”

  Even though Brad was right, he didn’t need to be such a smart ass about it. And it didn’t mean Silas wanted to hear it.

  Through the pain, he managed to growl out between clenched teeth, “Fuck you, Carr.”

  Brad grinned as Silas accepted that it was himself, and his back, that were good and truly fucked.

  CHAPTER 4

  Home.

  It was a word that had never been far from the forefront of Silas’s mind while he was away from it. But being here now felt more like a punishment.

  Irony.

  Now that was a word Silas had never thought much about before, but the meaning of it was sure slapping him in the face now as he pushed the button to open the garage door of his former home.

  How many times over the past decade had he been in some hell hole around the world and thought longingly of home, wishing he could be there? He couldn’t even begin to count.

  Now that he was here, he couldn’t be more miserable. Although the building he stood inside now was definitely no longer his home. The divorce had determined that.

  Medical leave. He let out a huff just at the thought of it. He’d probably be put back on the desk duty he hated so much while he healed.

  And how long would healing take? How long before he’d be cleared for combat duty again?

  He could only guess at this point and none of his estimates made him happy.

  Only an idiot would prefer Aleppo over Virginia Beach. Apparently he’d done some major damage to his brain as well as his back because he really didn’t want to be where he was.

  He exhaled and saw his breath in the cold winter air as he strode across the garage. He started to slide boxes forward on the shelves to check inside and found that he huffed harder from the exertion.

  How sad was it that opening the lids of some cardboard boxes was enough to make him winded?

  Though he knew it wasn’t the effort, but more the pain that had him breathing heavier. And the fact he was rushing to get in and out, because even though this had been his garage for years, it wasn’t any longer.

  In and out, quick, silent and invisible—it was the SEAL way. His mind might be thinking like a SEAL but unfortunately his body wasn’t cooperating.

  He was trying to figure out how to reach the box on the bottom shelf without having to bend to do it when he heard the door between the house and the garage open.

  “Silas?”

  Busted.

  He straightened, stifled a groan and turned stiffly to face Maggie. “Hey. Sorry.”

  He shouldn’t have come without calling her first. Hell, he probably shouldn’t have come at all, but he needed something.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  The subtext of that question said he was no longer welcome in what used to be his house.

  He pressed his lips together and drew in a breath to quell the resentment. “I needed something I left here.”

  Her brow furrowed in a frown. “What do you need?”

  What the fuck was that look and that question about? Didn’t she believe him? Did she think he was some sort of obsessed whacko?

  “Look. I’m not stalking you or anything. I’m not trying to get back in your life. I came here on a workday figuring you wouldn’t be home and I could get what I came for without ever having to see you. That’s why I didn’t call. So I wouldn’t bother you.”

  She took the few steps to close the distance between them. Reaching out, she laid her hand on the arm he had braced on the shelving as he tried to remain upright without wincing. “Silas. It’s fine. Just tell me what you need and I’ll help you find it.”

  He was ranting like a lunatic for no reason and she was the calm logical one. />
  When had their roles reversed? He was used to things between them being the other way around.

  At least for the past two years, that’s the way it had been. Her hysterical and crying. Him calmly trying to reason with her.

  Not anymore. Apparently things had changed. He didn’t like change in general. He certainly didn’t like this one.

  Blowing out a breath, he got back to her question. “I wanted that stretchy thing you bought me that year for Christmas to work out with.”

  “You mean the one you took out of the box and then never used?” she asked, one brow cocked high.

  “Yeah.” He averted his gaze in shame.

  Okay, so perhaps he hadn’t been all that grateful when he’d opened it, and that was rude because she had meant well.

  But jeez, he worked out enough with the team. He hadn’t needed to add to it at home just because she’d seen this thing on some infomercial.

  He pressed his lips together realizing he was stupid to think she’d have hung on to it, especially now after their divorce.

  “If you got rid of it already, that’s fine. I thought I’d take a look. It used to be out here in the garage.”

  “I didn’t get rid of it. And you’re right. It used to be out here, but I’ve been organizing. It’s in a box of stuff in the hall closet. Come on inside. I’ll get it for you.”

  A box of stuff. He had a feeling it was filled with his stuff.

  Feeling bitter, his first thought was that she was probably gathering it up so she could haul it to the dump or donate it. Cleanse the house and her life of all remnants of their time together, so she could pretend their marriage hadn’t happened at all.

  And what about Jonas? Was she purging the memories of him along with his childhood possessions?

  Scowling, he followed her into the house. They walked through the kitchen and past the entrance to the living room.

  He tried not to notice each and every one of the changes she’d made in the house as they walked, but he did anyway.

  Gone was the folding metal puzzle table that had always sat in the corner of the living room.

  He’d liked to sit and do the mindless task to unwind after a mission. She’d never liked the table in the room. Now she didn’t have to put up with it there anymore.