My Forbidden Navy SEAL Cowboy
Tyler
It was a rare busy night in the mess hall, as all of Tyler Hunter’s unit gathered for a meal together. For the last few weeks, most of the soldiers had been out on reconnaissance missions, and a few had been working to re-establish perimeters that had been broken down during the last attack. Tyler’s team of elite Navy SEALs had been sent to the little-known Middle Eastern country in an attempt to stamp down a growing terrorist insurgence, but progress had been slow-going. Tonight was the first night everyone had been back at base since the beginning of the month.
They were back because it was Thanksgiving, and it wasn’t the first holiday they were spending away from their families. But Tyler felt even worse for his parents because both he and his brother Declan were in the service, and neither of them could make it home this year. Declan’s wife, Bronwyn, had invited their parents to stay on the farm with her for the holidays, but it wasn’t enough to assuage Tyler’s guilt.
Tyler was poking absent-mindedly at his food when his buddy, Mike, came over and sat down next to him.
“What’s up, Wolfman? You look down?” Mike said with a slug to Tyler’s shoulder.
Tyler kept pushing his mashed potatoes around, but eventually just dropped the fork altogether and ran his hands through his short black hair.
“I just have this feeling, man. That something awful is going to happen. I can’t explain it, but I’ve had since I woke up this morning, and I can’t frigging shake it.”
Mike inched a little bit away from Tyler, so there was a more considerable space between them on the bench.
“I wouldn’t go around saying stuff like that too loudly, dude. You’re going to have trouble getting someone to go do perimeter checks with you later.”
Tyler shoved his tray across the table and let his head hit the cold metal. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, and it was making him sick to his stomach. Mike slid a small silver flask into Tyler’s lap with a gentle poke in the ribs.
“It’s the holidays, man. Take a few deeps breaths and settle down. You have a few hours before your next shift. Have a drink. Eat. Whatever is out there, it will still be there in the morning,” Mike whispered reassuringly.
Tyler nodded. He was exhausted from worrying, and he could use a break. He was just about to take a slug from the flask when several of the unit’s superior officers walked in to the mess hall, looking grim. Tyler felt his stomach drop down to his ankles, and he was afraid to move. It was rare that superior officers ate at the same time as the other guys, and when they started making their way toward Tyler, he felt his nerves begin to tattle even more. Mike let out a long breath.
“Ty, I’m sorry I dismissed you earlier. Something might be going on…”
Mike made a move to rush off but Tyler grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back down.
“Don’t you dare move an inch, Mike. Whatever is coming, you’re going to sit right here next to me while I take it. Especially after I dragged your ass away from that brothel sting in Lebanon. So don’t you go anywhere.”
Mike grumbled a few curses under his breath and plopped back down on the bench with a groan. He did owe Ty and if he was calling in his chit over some moral support, it was the least he could do. Literally. The absolute least.
Both soldiers moved to stand up and salute as their superiors approached, but General Jensen McCord waved for them both to stay seated.
“Senior LCDR Tyler Hunter? They call you Wolfman, right?”
Tyler tried not to roll his eyes. Everyone got a nickname in the SEALs, and usually it was related to a stupid accident or mistake that everyone could rib you about for the rest of your time in the service. But during Tyler’s first week in training, he’d been woken from a dead sleep by the whining of a wolf pup in the woods around the base. Every told him to ignore it and go back to sleep, but he couldn’t do it. In his bare feet, in the pouring rain, Tyler rushed into the trees, found the abandoned pup, and brought it back to camp, where it was raised as a mascot.
But from that night on, the name, “Wolfman” had stuck. He knew it could have been worse. He could have been Marshall “Tap Shoes” Fratelli.
Tyler reached a hand out to General McCord.
“Yes sir, they do. I hope I didn’t do anything to bring you all the way out here on a holiday.”
McCord sat down on the bench across from Tyler, flanked by the two other high-ranking officers. Tyler gulped.
Whatever is coming, it’s not good, Tyler thought nervously.
“Hunter, we received word at the main post today that there was a major firefight just outside of Syria, involving a large number of United States marines who were on their way to deliver supplies to Ukraine. All of the men involved are missing-in-action, and presumed dead. I’m sorry to say, Tyler, that your brother Declan is one of the missing.”
Tyler felt his shoulders droop instinctively. He knew it; he knew something horrible was about to happen. He had just hoped against all hope that it would happen to him and not his brother. His brother had a wife. His brother had a farm. Declan had something to go back to. All Tyler had was the job.
What am I going to tell our parents? Bronwyn? he thought with a sick feeling in his stomach. He barely heard the General start talking again.
“Hunter, we’re giving you leave to go back to Montana to deal with your brother’s affairs, and to spend some time with your family. Consider the leave indefinite unless you decide otherwise. You’ve been out here long enough, and you’ve served your country well. It’s time to take care of your family, son.”
Mike leaned over and whispered in Tyler’s ear, “Dude, I’m sorry about your brother but maybe you should buy a lottery ticket when you get back to the States.”
Tyler didn’t even have the strength to glare at his sarcastic friend. All he could think about was getting back to his parents. And how he was going to tell his brother’s wife that Declan may never be coming home.