Luke
“This is what it’s going to look like, boys,” Dagger shouts. To get our attention, but also because he’s a loud motherfucker by nature. He unveiled the map of the brand-new female compound on our SEAL base here in Coronado. The higher-ups want women to be equal to us, they want them included in ourbrotherhood, and yet they took a whole damn year constructing a compound to segregate them. Because, you guessed it, they’re actually quite different. “Your key cards won’t work there. You’re not allowed in there for any reason. Don’t even piss in a 100-yard proximity of the building. Do you understand?”
There is moaning. Groaning. Dissent among the group of SEALs collected for the meeting. Someone shouts out a question asking if women are allowed in our area. Dagger has been my best friend for as long as I can remember, I know him as well as I know myself. So, when I see the sweat rolling down his face as he pretends he’s not affected by the estrogen bomb about to rock our world, it makes me nervous. It makes everyone nervous. The average, normal person is terrified of change. In our raucous world, we aren’t scared of anything. I clear my throat when I see Dagger try to answer the question while maintaining the politically correct visage.
As if he felt the uncomfortable clusterfuck of the moment, my dad saunters into the open large bay, his salt and pepper hair gleaming in the midday sun and walks up to where Dagger is trying his best to gain attention of thirty plus alpha males with huge chips on their shoulders. Maverick Hart. The man. The myth. The legend. The goddamn reason most of the men sitting in this room wanted to become Navy SEALs. I’m lucky and unlucky enough that on the weekends, and when we’re off the clock, I call him Dad.
“Shut the fuck up you spoiled Nancy’s,” Maverick booms. “This isn’t a forum for your opinions. No one cares about your opinions. This is how it’s going to be.”
Magically, everyone silences. “This is happening. You’ve had a year to get used to the idea. Now shut your holes and prepare. BUD/S class 1030 rolled in last night.”
“How many females are in their class?” a new guy chirps. This is my second year at SEAL Team 5 after graduating SQT, SEAL Qualification Training. For all intents and purposes I’m still a FNG, a fucking new guy. Not as new as the asshole piping up right now, though.
Maverick’s dimpled smile scans the room. A smile I wasn’t glad I inherited until I saw how effective it is on the ladies. The dimples branded me cute as a child, then sometime after puberty when the muscle genes worked in my favor, the dimples became…panty melting. His smile drops, “Just one. I’ll be taking over this BUD/S class because she’s a special one.” He meets my eyes, but moves on quickly. It’s a tedious balance to ensure no one thinks I get special treatment. “Aarabelle Dempsey is the BUD/S candidate. Liam Dempsey’s daughter is our woman. She passed all of the initial physical and psych tests. We didn’t lower any of our standards. Not one. She deserves to be here and earned the spot.”
No one says a word. A pin drop would sound like a flash bang right now. Maverick goes on, “This will be the last BUD/S class I run before I retire.” I knew this information already. He’s been talking nonstop about finally retiring and giving Mom the life she’s always dreamed of. Just Windsor and Maverick in their vacation house up in the Calabasas Hills right on the water. Mom deserves it more than anyone else I know, but as Maverick Hart would put it, it’s hard to walk away from family. The Teams are his family, and that’s why he’s hung around longer than anyone thought he would. I bet he’s getting kicked out at this point. Liam Dempsey, too.
“We aren’t asking for any special accommodations for her. It’s going to be a long road as you all know.”
The FNG from a minute before says, “Yeah, let’s see this chick make it through training.” His tone is sarcastic, a bitter edge. “Most men can’t get through. She has a rude awakening.”
Maverick flashes a half smile. The scary one, given present company. “You haven’t met Dempsey’s daughter?” It’s been a long time since I last saw her. We were children ensconced in the SEAL community. Her father Liam Dempsey transferred from the East Coast Teams and I remember Aarabelle as a small, muddy-faced brunette who didn’t like to listen to her parents. Our times playing together were few and it was always heavy on the make-believe side. Guess she’s still probably on that same course given our current circumstances. How else could she find herself here, wanting to be one of us? Maverick leans against the bar. “Dempsey is going to stay neutral and isn’t taking part of any of the training of this BUD/S class. I, on the other hand, will make sure you derelict dogs stay in line. Do you hear me? The media will grab a hold of this and make her life a living nightmare. It will be…rough if she makes it through. It will be sensationalized.”
New guy can’t shut his mouth. “If she makes it through. Why are we even having this conversation? She’ll drop before Hell Week and all of this will be wasted time and we can go back to normal.”
The SEAL Teams are a family. A tight-knit unit like any other. We have the bitching Aunt Ethel, the pretentious cousin, the complainer, the one-upper, and you don’t have to look too far for the alcoholic or the perpetual bachelor. On the contrary, there’s a dynamic that’s unlike the average family. We would die for each other without thinking twice. With that, comes respect, even if it’s thinly veiled in moments like these. Something like indoctrinating the first female SEAL in history to our ranks, is legendary. Even if Dempsey stays tucked away in an office, he has to be rooting for his daughter to pull through without having her mental state dismantled completely. He might be one of the few rooting for her, as I let my gaze take in the faces surrounding me. It’s bleak.
Maverick growls. “I’m sorry if you think I’m wasting your time. If you have somewhere else to be right now, go.” His blue eyes turn to ice as he speaks. He hisses something under his breath. Something crass, I’m sure.
“No, no, no. Looks like I’m the stupid bastard who is saying out loud what we’re all thinking,” FNG replies. He shifts in a chair, an uneasy movement. He’s dipping his foot in to test the waters. No one else speaks up. “By all means finish the tour of their compound, the one that we won’t ever see. Or is there more? A set of rules you’re about to unload on us? About how we’re going to have to start carrying tampons in our kit?”
I cringe. If this was my sister, Marley, he was talking around, I’d want to shred throat. Maverick handles it by pointing to the exit, and the FNG vanishes into a sunny day to be dealt with alone.
Of course, there will be new guidelines and structure and honestly, I’m not happy about that shift. I worked my ass off my entire life to get here to have a piece of the sacred brotherhood for myself, and it does feel like it’s being washed out and hung to dry. I have wanted this career longer than I’ve wanted anything else in the world. More than the women who clamor for my attention. More than the flashy cars and lavish houses I’m afforded by being born a Hart. More than words. To me, being a SEAL is a feeling. An invigoration of adrenaline and honor to serve my country. The side perk of telling women what I do is merely a bonus.
Dagger goes on, and as the FNG assumed, the rulesarenext. He clears his throat. “No interpersonal relationships. This one is hazy from the higher-ups, but don’t shit where you eat, guys. That goes without saying. Relationships end and it’s hard to have someone’s back when you want to stab it instead, we clear? No friends with benefits. Nothing. Platonic working relationships only. Hands to yourself. Nothing inappropriate. There will be a Personnel Specialist in our offices to make sure the integration goes smoothly. Her name is Lt. Williams and if you have any questions or need clarification about expectations, visit her office in building two.”
There are snickers echoing the large space. Someone lets out an explicit grunt. Dagger talks over it. “Hart touched on it, but there will be no preferential treatment for any BUD/S candidate. We aren’t changing anything. Women will have to roll into our world. If my leg gets blown off and she has to carry my stinky ass three miles to the chopper for evac, then so be it.”
“And if I could carry your stinky ass to the chopper quicker, and I know it? What then?” A SEAL pipes up.
“She won’t be a SEAL then. She won’t make it through training. Simple as that. Same standards. I cannot repeat this enough.”
I’d feel bad for the poor woman if I didn’t know the knife’s edge we walk downrange. Some things do require brute physical strength. Dagger looks at me. “For this particular instance, it needs to be known that Aarabelle Dempsey is here on her own merit, from the Naval Academy, because she earned the spot. Dempsey wasn’t used as a reference and had no pull in the spot she acquired. She qualified a year ago, and it’s taken this long for our command to prepare.”
“Luke,” someone behind me coughs out my name. Laughs erupt.
“Hey, fuck you!” I say, turning to find the culprit. It was the same for me, having a father high up in the Teams. Some are more vocal about it than others. Assuming we were a shoo-in instead of having to claw out our fucking spots like everyone else. It’s bullshit. But, I get it. I’d probably think the same thing.
Maverick chuckles loudly. “If you think I wanted my only son sitting in this high bay instead of a plush, safe office somewhere in the city, you’ve lost your fucking minds. Yet, here he is. Giving me white hairs every which way he can.”
My brothers know that, but they still give me a hard time. Mostly for the trust fund Maverick also passed on to me on my eighteenth birthday. It affords a lifestyle that is uncommon—lavish. Most wouldn’t understand why I’d even work with an account so large I’d never need to work a day in my life. Then they get to know me, and quickly find out how passionate I am about being a SEAL and serving my country. To an outsider, it may seem like I’m in the Navy to pass the time in between spending my millions and that’s just not the case. Sure, money makes a lot of things easier, but it doesn’t slake the desire to have a meaningful existence. Leaving my mark on this world, like the brothers that came before me have, is my drive.
I hang my head—staring at my clasped hands. Aarabelle is a woman, and her dad is Liam Dempsey. If she makes it through BUD/S and SQT, she’s going to have it rougher than I did. “Everyone just needs to keep a level head,” Dagger butts in, doing his best to take the heat off me. “That’s the base level of all of these guidelines. And the new guy was right, unfortunately. There’s three weeks until Hell Week and as you all know; the attrition is close to twenty percent. Let’s see where she lands and keep an open mind in the meantime. A woman would offer new perspective to an archaic system.”
Okay, now I know he’s on script. We laugh. Dad turns away, ostensibly to hide a smile.
Dagger snarls, shaking his head. “Done. Go. Get out of here.” It’s Frogman Friday, an easy, usually short day at theofficefor us. Some guys leave the high bay straight away, others head to the bar in the corner and start mixing drinks. Others linger, watching the big screen television on the oversized leather sofas playing an old action flick.
