Page 106 of Luck Be Mine
Perfect days in San Diego were common. Today proved the rule. The warm November day dwelled in the bright sun clinging in the sky, and an ocean breeze left a fresh breath behind. The upcoming solemn ceremony would be quiet sniffles, heavy sighs, and military tradition. The juxtaposition jarred in every service Hunt had ever attended.
The base church’s main doors stood open, their rich-stained wood glowing in the sunlight. Every detail of the medium-size chapel’s interior would be meticulously polished, shined, and decorated to precise requirements from the lighted white candles and flowers in remembrance to the flags in recognition of the sacrifice.
Baxter’s uniform SEAL picture would sit in enlarged glory on an easel beside the casket. Tragic. Alone.
This was not the first team funeral for this church and wouldn’t be the last. The degree of honorable, horrible loss never changed.
Hunt hadn’t spoken more than five words since rising this morning, and he exited Cait’s car still silent. She didn’t question using her car and driving. She let him be. She seemed to understand the words wouldn’t come. His internal turmoil spread until he couldn’t breathe, let alone talk or let out all the gut-wrenching guilt and grief. Whether he would scream or sob, he couldn’t tell. He did neither.
Adjusting his uniform, he fingered the trident in his pocket and tried to figure how many times he’d performed this ritual. How many men lost? The answer eluded him. He had to join the team waiting at the doors. They’d be looking to him to lead, hold them together. Honestly, could he?
Cait turned off the SUV and joined him. Usually, he would have been right by her door, helping her out. Fail there, too. She wore a simple navy sheath that matched his formal uniform with no jewelry except pearl earrings, her wedding ring, and plain navy heels. She’d rolled her hair and pinned it at the nape of her neck. She was beautiful, and thankfully his.
The hearse brought Baxter, and the limousine carried Bess Baxter, Robert’s aunt and uncle, and Elizabeth Greer. The procession slowly moved down the quiet street a block away. Captain David Lueks, Commander James Gregg, and Lieutenant Jack Brennan were with the base chaplain at the door.
Mackey, Quaid, and Harrison stood off to the side. Dark suits all of them, and none were talking.
He had to cross the street now and pretend he knew what he was going to say and do. Carter and Doogie were giving eulogies, thank God. He couldn’t and hated himself for it. Had losing other teammates been this heavy? He closed his eyes, drowning. The casket and family would be here in moments, and he had to get across the parking lot.
Cait took his free hand and squeezed. “Breathe. One step at a time.”
She lightly tugged on his hand, and he followed her. She pulled him close with a shift of her elbow, never letting go of him. He leaned ever so slightly on her strength.
Doogie and Hernandez were in position to meet the hearse and the family. He reached Doogie’s side and squeezed Cait’s hand. He let her go. She nodded to acknowledge Tommy and K-Rock and moved away. She greeted command members at the door, entered the church, and disappeared.
His gut rolled, stopping him cold.Power through, boy.Why the hell had his father’s voice flooded him now?
“You okay, LC?” Doogie’s voice brought him back.
“Are any of us okay?” He glanced at his friends. Pristine uniforms matched, and the internal wounds didn’t show.
“No, we are not.” Hernandez’s face stayed blank as a slab of stone.
Doogie shifted to check the progress of the hearse. “Damn straight.”
Hunt signaled the other team members to come forward. Jack Brennan ditched the commanders and crossed to them.
Each funeral was different. Baxter’s mother had asked the primary team to accompany the casket, and she wished to walk in with Hunt. He couldn’t tell her no, wouldn’t have. Carter had been with the body since the death and wouldn’t relinquish his spot until the first shovel of dirt fell on the casket at the cemetery.
After the initial shock, Bess Baxter had stood tall and thought clearly about what she wanted and what would honor Baxter’s service. They’d jumped to comply.
“Everybody’s here, LC.” Hernandez confirmed what his eyes told him. No excuses except for outside the wire teams and those injured.
The hearse pulled to a stop.
The windows were shiny and bright and showed Baxter’s coffin inside, draped with a U.S. flag and adorned in deep red roses and white lilies.
He’d had trouble letting go of the body when the helicopter landed. Was it a comfort to know Bax’s body was in the casket? He’d never, in all his funerals, asked that question.
Carter stepped from the passenger side. His uniform crisp and creased, his hair trimmed, and his face grim.
Hunt let Hernandez and Doogie manage the hearse and went to Carter. “Are you handling this?”
“Yes, LC. I have this.” Blank eyes, but honest commitment in his tone.
Hunt stepped back, accepting the statement as the truth.
Commander Gregg came to his side. Hunt looked past him for Lueks.
