Page 29 of Building Courage

Sam motioned them all to gather around as he spread out a map on the hood of one of the vehicles. “We’ll drive one behind the other in formation along the base of the mountains for a time; then, I’ll signal for you to spread out and drive parallel. There are plenty of obstacles out there to maneuver around, so be on your toes. I don’t want any injuries or damage to the vehicles. We’ll be taking a break here for lunch.” He pointed to a spot on the map. “Saddle up.”

Tucker jumped into the driver’s seat before Denotti could get there. He positioned his headgear and strapped on his helmet.

Denotti leaped into the passenger seat with an oath. “Damn you, Gilly. You’re like a fucking jack rabbit.”

“You need to lay off the pasta, Knotty.”

He donned COM gear and a helmet. “Hey. I’m in the best shape of my life. If your skinny ass ever needs carrying out, I’ll be the one doing it.”

He was probably right. “I promise to thank you afterward. And I’ll let you drive all the time I’m laid up.”

Knotty shook his head in disgust but laughed.

After a COM check, Tucker started the engine.

The terrain was desert with rocks and scrub. There were always obstacles to circumvent, and as fun as it was to drive the vehicle, it took skill, strength, and concentration. Sam’s voice in his head, calling out changes in direction or warnings of obstacles, cut his and Denotti’s banter to a minimum. They stopped briefly for a water and bathroom break, then did fixed point maneuvers to find a chosen position in the desert to fire upon the scrap vehicles positioned for target practice. Denotti loved the fifty-caliber gun and was an expert with it.

Two hours later, hot, dusty, and hungry, they parked the vehicles in the meager shade of a row of scrubby creosote bushes and opened the coolers they’d brought containing their lunches. A shout of approval went out as they opened the prepacked lunches to find thick roast beef sandwiches, two apiece, and potato salad, which beat the hell out of MREs. The ice-cold water washed it down just fine.

They ate in near silence until Sam passed out chocolate bars.

As Tucker watched Swan stuff nearly half a chocolate bar in his mouth at once, Tucker shook his head. “Chocolate’s meant to be savored, Swan.”

“Says the guy who doesn’t eat anything but lean meat and vegetables,” Swan said around a glob of chocolate.

“You don’t seem to complain when you’re eating at my house,” Tucker shot back.

“That’s because he doesn’t cook, and it’s free food at your house. Not so much at the restaurants he frequents,” Bullet shot back as he broke off a rectangle from the candy bar and popped it in his mouth.

“I’ve seen Swan eat what looked like the moldy ass end of a baby pig because he didn’t have anything else in his house,” Rosenburg said. “And it definitely wasn’t Kosher.”

“I was there to witness that myself,” Bullet said, his grin wide. “It’s a wonder he doesn’t get food poisoning.”

“That happened to be a rare delicacy left over from my favorite steak house,” Swan said.

“Left over from maybe two months before,” Rosenburg said. “Bro, we could almost see the penicillin sprouting off it.”

Tucker laughed with the rest of them. He wondered what Brynn did since she didn’t cook.

“Go to the deli and get fresh meat and cheese for sandwiches, Swan,” Sam suggested, but it sounded more like an order. “You get food poisoning, and we deploy, I’ll load your puking ass onto the plane myself with a barf bucket.”

Swan made a waving-off motion with his hand. “They’re just yanking my chain, LT.”

“Not much,” Rosenburg said, but he laughed.

“Besides, it was only the bread that was moldy,” Swan added.

Denotti made gagging noises. “Stop, guys. I have a weak stomach.”

“Says the guy who could eat the south end of a northbound water buffalo,” Arrow commented.

“Pasta cushions the landing,” Denotti said, patting his stomach.

“Enough! You’re disturbing my enjoyment of my chocolate,” Beckham complained in a perfect imitation of a snooty Englishman. Some of the guys had been calling him “English,” and he’d run with it.

Even Sam laughed.

The humor kept them evened out and a cohesive whole. Sometimes, it was crude, sometimes cruel, sometimes funny, but each man on his team had his six. He didn’t doubt that. It made it impossible for him to imagine any of them sabotaging a parachute to harm a fellow SEAL.

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