Degree of Risk. Lindsay McKenna
flaring, breathing unevenly, Donaldson took in the iciness in the master chief’s expression. His voice was neutral, nonthreatening, but by God, he could see the rage burning in his eyes. Donaldson gripped the arms of his chair. “I don’t suppose you have the dates of those two days in mind?”
Hunter’s mouth crooked. “I think Wednesday and Thursday of next week would be just fine if it works for you?”
“Done,” Donaldson snapped. “Now get the hell out of my office!”
Hunter rose slowly, unwinding like a snake, his face hard and unreadable. “Thank you, Major.” He turned, opened the door and left as quietly as he’d come.
* * *
When Sarah didn’t have duty, she always stayed in the small room the SEALs had painted and set up for her. They’d found her a real bed to sleep in, not a cot. Even better, there was air conditioning. At her tent, she, like everyone else, bunked in the heat of the night, making for miserable sleeping conditions. As she sat up and rubbed her eyes, she noticed a white envelope beneath the door. A soft smile came to her face. Ethan had written her a poem! Her heart expanded with fierce love for him. When she’d first met him, there would be a card on the plywood floor, just inside the flaps of her tent.
Standing, she picked it up. Her heart suffused with love for Ethan’s thoughtfulness. All her life, she’d had nothing but heartbreak when it came to men. Now, with him walking into her life, she was discovering for the first time what it was like to fall in love and be loved in return.
Sitting on the bed, Sarah opened the envelope. The blue parchment nearly matched the color of her eyes. She opened it up, her heart beating with anticipation. Ethan was teaching her there were many ways to love her. His poems always touched her heart. Her soul.
Do your attentions transform other fossils, causing them to flower
And swell from the desert where they were imprisoned far too long
Under increasingly desperate isolations of deceptive skin
Covering the swollen bloats of emotions which trapped the murderous melancholy of joy
In the soul’s bone and rheumatism of a frayed and staid body?
I assure you that my love is committed and constant
Love you,
Ethan
P.S. Breakfast at chow hall? 0700?
Smiling sleepily, Sarah sighed, pressing the poem against her heart. How did she ever get so lucky as to meet Ethan? His poetry was so beautiful to her, lifting her out of the stench of combat and hurling her into a world of light, hope and happiness. Sarah stood and pulled open the dresser drawer, setting it with the other envelopes.
Looking at her watch, Sarah realized she’d be going back on the schedule at 0800. It was now 0600. Good. She had time to get over to the women’s showers, pull on a clean flight suit and, best of all, meet Ethan for breakfast. So often, he was out on patrol, so this was a treat in itself.
As Sarah left her room, her shower articles in a bag, Trace Fulton, one of the SEAL combat medics, called to her from down the hall. “Hey, Sarah?”
“Morning, Trace,” she murmured, turning and smiling at him. Trace was one of Ethan’s best friends.
“Hey, Master Chief Hunter said to tell you, if I saw you before you left for duty, that he wanted five minutes of your time.” Trace hooked his finger over his broad shoulder. “He’s over at the espresso machine.”
Sarah nodded, turning on her booted foot and heading down to the big room. “Sure, no problem.” Worry automatically inserted itself into her world when it came to Gil Hunter. He was the head honcho of this SEAL platoon, ran it smoothly and quietly, but she was always aware of the mantle of power the man wore. Something had to be wrong.
As Sarah walked toward him, he was just getting his morning espresso in his large ceramic mug. “Morning, Sarah,” Hunter greeted her.
“Morning, Master Chief.”
“Walk with me?” he asked, heading toward his office. Sarah felt small beside Hunter. He was tall and powerfully built. She followed him into his cramped office.
“Shut the door?” he asked as he sat down behind his desk. Sarah closed it and stood, waiting. “Have a seat,” Hunter invited, gesturing to one of the two chairs in front of his desk. “You look like you think I’m going to bite you.” He grinned a little.
Sarah smiled sheepishly and sat down, placing her towel, washcloth and soap in her lap. “I guess I’m gun-shy, Master Chief. No insult meant to you.”
Hunter grunted, leaning back in his black leather chair. “None taken,” he quietly assured her. He picked up the August flight schedule and handed it to her. “I noticed some discrepancies in Major Donaldson’s August schedule for you, Sarah.”
She snorted and rolled her eyes. “So did I.”
“Why didn’t you say something to me after you saw it?” Hunter asked softly.
“Well...er...you’re not my CO. You’re a SEAL. I’m in a medevac squadron.” Flustered, she could see a glint in Hunter’s green eyes. He was so stoically SEAL: you never knew what they were thinking unless they wanted you to.
“Mmm, rightly so,” Hunter murmured, moving his index finger across his upper lip. “You’re getting scheduled for flight twenty percent more often than the rest of the pilots each month. Seeing that, wouldn’t you take that discrepancy up with Major Donaldson?”
Coloring fiercely, Sarah couldn’t hold his warm gaze. Nervously, she picked at a thread on the towel in her lap. “I’m tired of fighting him, if you want the truth, Master Chief.”
“Look,” he murmured, keeping his voice neutral, “what he’s done isn’t correct. We both know that.”
Sarah shrugged. “Yes, I know that.” She lifted her chin and held his stare. “I love what I do, Master Chief. Maybe if I didn’t want to save lives so badly, I would have taken it up with him.”
“You live to save,” Hunter agreed, giving her a kind look. “One of the responsibilities I’m charged with as the master chief is the mental and emotional health of my men, Sarah. You’re engaged to Ethan. And so, by proxy, you become my responsibility, too. You’re a part of our team now, Sarah. And you know we have your back.”
“I know you do,” she said, suddenly emotional. “Frankly, I think you have enough to do without being concerned about me, too.”
“Well, I want to be involved, Sarah. You’re a gutsy pilot and you aren’t afraid to put yourself on the line to do it. In SEAL eyes, you rock,” he said, smiling.
The man couldn’t undo her past, erase the tragic memories of her younger life, but he was showing her that she could stand up for herself when injustices were done to her in the present. That was the job of a master chief, the health and welfare of the men under his wing. His support of her touched her deeply.
“I brought this infraction to the attention of your CO,” he told her in a casual tone.
Instantly, Sarah jerked up, her stomach cold with fear.
“And Major Donaldson agrees that it was simply an overlooked mistake.”
Sarah sat frozen, adrenaline leaking into her bloodstream. She knew the master chief was a man of action; that he did take care of his own. What had he done? And was Donaldson pissed off at her because of it? “Wh-what did you do?” The words came out a squeak from her, her hands gripping the toiletry items in her lap.
“Fixed it,” Hunter said simply. “And don’t worry, the major isn’t going to blame you for this. Okay?”
But the terror she felt was real. Sarah had reason to worry, having been under Donaldson’s command for two years. She knew he didn’t