officers and enlisted, echoed.
The senior was grinning at him, and Nils smiled back, knowing he’d remember this moment for the rest of his life.
A vein stood out on Tucker’s forehead. “Lieutenant Paoletti, are you—”
“Going to have a beer with Lieutenant Nilsson and my men? Definitely.” Paoletti cut him off again, turning this time to the men in Nils’s Bravo Team. “What, do you guys have tomorrow off or something, staying out like this all night?”
They shrugged, and Jenk answered for them. “No, sir, muster’s at oh-five hundred. We’ll be there.”
“Let’s see if we can’t spell this out so Admiral Tucker will be sure to understand,” Paoletti said. “We have here an ensign, a chief, and four petty officers who—even though I didn’t hand out this assignment, even though this was their time off, including their time to sleep—have spent an entire night participating in a training op. And the reason they’ve done this is . . .” He looked at O’Leary. “Can you help me out here, Chief?”
The taciturn chief shrugged. “Because Nils—Lieutenant Nilsson—asked.” The other SEALs nodded.
“Because Lieutenant Nilsson asked,” the CO repeated.
Tucker was finally silent, and Nils actually felt sorry for the SOB. When was the last time anyone did anything for him simply because he asked instead of ordered?
“You guys have tomorrow off,” Paoletti told them. “Good job tonight. All of you. Lieutenant Howe,” he called to the waiting helo pilot, “I think the admiral’s ready to return to the base. I’ll be driving back with my men.”
Poor Teri Howe. She had to fly back to Coronado with only Admiral Tucker for company. She sent a longing glance in Mike Muldoon’s direction, but as usual, the newest member of Team Sixteen was oblivious. He was already in deep discussion with the senior chief.
Nils held his breath until Tucker was safely on the helo and off the ground.
Lieutenant Paoletti turned to Nils and sighed. “What am I going to do with you, Johnny?”
“Just promote him to admiral, L.T., and get it over with,” Sam Starrett drawled. “Then he can fight it out with Tucker himself.”
“Let’s get moving.” Wolchonok began herding the team.
“I support your creativity, Lieutenant,” Paoletti said to Nils as they headed for the trucks. “You know I do. But we’re going to have to have a talk. Tomorrow. Fifteen hundred. My office. This stunt’s going to get some attention, and not just from Admiral Tucker.”
Nils shook his head. “Please don’t ask me to apologize for winning, L.T.”
“I’m not going to do that. But we might need to do some explaining.” Paoletti’s cell phone shrilled. He glanced at his watch, and Nils automatically checked his own timepiece.
It was 0343. Who was calling the CO at this hour? Was it possible Tucker was so determined to crucify him that he’d already started spreading the word?
Paoletti found the pocket that held his phone as it rang again. “This can’t be good.”
“Oh, Tommy,” WildCard singsonged obnoxiously. “It’s your wife!”
As Paoletti opened his phone and stepped aside to take the call, Nils quickly moved to intercept WildCard. He wasn’t the only one. Wolchonok and Jazz Jacquette also made a beeline for the gangly SEAL.
“She’s not his wife,” Wolchonok said bluntly. “So shut the fuck up.”
“Whoa,” WildCard said, blinking. “I was just kidding, Senior. I was—”
“It’s becoming something of an issue for L.T.,” Nils explained, his voice low. “He wants to get married, and she keeps putting it off.”
“Who, Kelly?” WildCard was genuinely surprised. It was obvious that for once he hadn’t meant to be an asshole.
“Yes, Kelly,” Jazz told him. “Every time L.T. tries to pin her down to a wedding date, her pager conveniently goes off.”
WildCard laughed. “No way. She’s crazy about him. Whenever she comes to see him at the base, I
The senior was grinning at him, and Nils smiled back, knowing he’d remember this moment for the rest of his life.
A vein stood out on Tucker’s forehead. “Lieutenant Paoletti, are you—”
“Going to have a beer with Lieutenant Nilsson and my men? Definitely.” Paoletti cut him off again, turning this time to the men in Nils’s Bravo Team. “What, do you guys have tomorrow off or something, staying out like this all night?”
They shrugged, and Jenk answered for them. “No, sir, muster’s at oh-five hundred. We’ll be there.”
“Let’s see if we can’t spell this out so Admiral Tucker will be sure to understand,” Paoletti said. “We have here an ensign, a chief, and four petty officers who—even though I didn’t hand out this assignment, even though this was their time off, including their time to sleep—have spent an entire night participating in a training op. And the reason they’ve done this is . . .” He looked at O’Leary. “Can you help me out here, Chief?”
The taciturn chief shrugged. “Because Nils—Lieutenant Nilsson—asked.” The other SEALs nodded.
“Because Lieutenant Nilsson asked,” the CO repeated.
Tucker was finally silent, and Nils actually felt sorry for the SOB. When was the last time anyone did anything for him simply because he asked instead of ordered?
“You guys have tomorrow off,” Paoletti told them. “Good job tonight. All of you. Lieutenant Howe,” he called to the waiting helo pilot, “I think the admiral’s ready to return to the base. I’ll be driving back with my men.”
Poor Teri Howe. She had to fly back to Coronado with only Admiral Tucker for company. She sent a longing glance in Mike Muldoon’s direction, but as usual, the newest member of Team Sixteen was oblivious. He was already in deep discussion with the senior chief.
Nils held his breath until Tucker was safely on the helo and off the ground.
Lieutenant Paoletti turned to Nils and sighed. “What am I going to do with you, Johnny?”
“Just promote him to admiral, L.T., and get it over with,” Sam Starrett drawled. “Then he can fight it out with Tucker himself.”
“Let’s get moving.” Wolchonok began herding the team.
“I support your creativity, Lieutenant,” Paoletti said to Nils as they headed for the trucks. “You know I do. But we’re going to have to have a talk. Tomorrow. Fifteen hundred. My office. This stunt’s going to get some attention, and not just from Admiral Tucker.”
Nils shook his head. “Please don’t ask me to apologize for winning, L.T.”
“I’m not going to do that. But we might need to do some explaining.” Paoletti’s cell phone shrilled. He glanced at his watch, and Nils automatically checked his own timepiece.
It was 0343. Who was calling the CO at this hour? Was it possible Tucker was so determined to crucify him that he’d already started spreading the word?
Paoletti found the pocket that held his phone as it rang again. “This can’t be good.”
“Oh, Tommy,” WildCard singsonged obnoxiously. “It’s your wife!”
As Paoletti opened his phone and stepped aside to take the call, Nils quickly moved to intercept WildCard. He wasn’t the only one. Wolchonok and Jazz Jacquette also made a beeline for the gangly SEAL.
“She’s not his wife,” Wolchonok said bluntly. “So shut the fuck up.”
“Whoa,” WildCard said, blinking. “I was just kidding, Senior. I was—”
“It’s becoming something of an issue for L.T.,” Nils explained, his voice low. “He wants to get married, and she keeps putting it off.”
“Who, Kelly?” WildCard was genuinely surprised. It was obvious that for once he hadn’t meant to be an asshole.
“Yes, Kelly,” Jazz told him. “Every time L.T. tries to pin her down to a wedding date, her pager conveniently goes off.”
WildCard laughed. “No way. She’s crazy about him. Whenever she comes to see him at the base, I
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