Invincible

4.

I paced around the living quarters of our ship, which was on its way to our next mission. But I couldn’t even focus on anything but saving Annie.

I pulled Vic and Kyle into an empty rec room away from the rest of our Team.

Vic sat down in a chair. “Dude, what’s going on with you?”

I stared at the drab gray walls, hesitating to tell them.

Kyle glared at me. “Spill it, Walsh.” Kyle was a complete badass. He was one of only a handful of African-American men on the teams and unlike Vic and me, he was an officer. He’d been a star linebacker in the NFL, and gave up all that fame and money to join the Teams. There was a saying once on our recruiting posters, something like, “He’ll never win MVP, never get a Super Bowl ring—some heroes don’t play games.” Kyle was the living embodiment of that quote.

I didn’t want to speak. So I logged into the common computer and pulled up a website on Annie.

Kyle focused on the screen. “Yeah, Annie Hamilton. Everyone knows about her. Fine as fuck. Got drunk and fell overboard on a cruise ship out here. I think her stoner boyfriend pushed her over. She’s from San Diego. What’s your point?”

I took a deep breath. “She didn’t fall overboard on the cruise and her boyfriend is innocent; she gave me a blowjob last night at a brothel.”

Kyle laughed. “Sure she did.”

Vic shook his head at me, probably not sure whether or not I was joking. “Fuck you, man. She’s someone’s daughter. That’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing. She was fucking kidnapped and forced into the white sex slavery. I went to a brothel last night, and this chick gave me head. Afterwards, she said her name was Annie Hamilton. I thought she was trying to con me, but it’s fucking her: hazel eyes, Californian accent. And she made a point to show me her shoulder scar and ankle tattoo. Here look at the pics.” I handed Kyle my phone and he scrolled through the pictures while Vic looked on.

“I went back today just to be one hundred percent sure. I’d fucking bet my Budweiser on it.”

The room fell silent. We didn’t joke about “The Budweiser,” our trident, our Navy Insignia. It was pinned on every Navy SEAL, after completing the BUD/S training,

“My Trident is a symbol of honor and heritage. Bestowed upon me by the heroes that have gone before, it embodies the trust of those I have sworn to protect. By wearing the Trident I accept the responsibility of my chosen profession and way of life. It is a privilege that I must earn every day.”

Kyle put his hand on my shoulder. “You’re serious. You fucking think you found Annie Hamilton in a Curaçao whorehouse?”

“She’s pretty wrecked, but alive. A heroin junkie barely holding on. It’s a miracle she’s survived these last five years. Now how are we going to get her out?”

Vic shook his head. “You fucked a hooker? That’s low even for you, Walsh. Go tell Lt. Marshall. You realize you’re going to get charged for solicitation.”

“Shut your fucking cock holster. Who the fuck do you think you are telling me what to do? You’re not my sea daddy. Of course, I know I can get charged, but I don’t give a shit. We need to save her. We’re fucking SEALs. No one else is going to do it. Don’t you see? I was meant to be on this deployment, this SEAL Team. To rescue her. But we aren’t going to tell Lt. Marshall—or anyone else on the Team, for that matter. The Navy would have to go through the proper channels, CIA, FBI, local Curaçao police. It’s too risky. There have been sightings of her before and no one did shit. I’m going to rescue her. You going to help me? Or you going to fucking rat my ass out to Lt. Marshall?”

Kyle didn’t hesitate. “I’m in.”

Vic bit his lip. “So am I.” I knew Vic would help, even though he liked to follow protocol.

Kyle put his hand on my back. “Yup. Not even worried. These dumbasses are jokes compared to the guys we usually deal with.”

He was right. I’d been in firefights with the Taliban, overtaken Somali pirates, and offed members of drug cartels. A low grade Caribbean white-slavery ring didn’t scare me.

“We train for war and fight to win.”

We had three weeks at sea to come up with a plan before we arrived back in Curaçao. She’d survived five years. I’d never forgive myself if I couldn’t bring her home to her family, home to the United States. What was the point of being called a hero if I couldn’t save her? It didn’t matter that rescuing her wasn’t an official mission. She was my mission.

“We expect to lead and be led. In the absence of orders I will take charge, lead my teammates and accomplish the mission. I lead by example in all situations.”