CHAPTER THREE
“Hot tip. Slower runners stay to the left of the trail,” the camper nicknamed Bull mansplained to Ashley. “That way, you won’t get in the way of those of us who’re faster.”
Big and beefy and dressed in camo gear that made them look ridiculous, he and his friend Todd had been to SEAL World before, and were filled with all kinds of condescending information.
Ashley’s first night had been uneventful, but mostly because she’d retreated to her RV. After unpacking her gear, she’d taken her dinner back to her trailer—the mess was serving pre-made sandwiches since campers would be arriving all through the evening hours—and gone to bed early. She was hoping to get her body attuned to the eastern time zone as quickly as possible.
Now, as the campers gathered in the sandy clearing outside of the mess hall in the dawn light, Bull had approached her to ask if she was one of the instructor’s girlfriends, hired on for the session as kitchen help.
She was dressed exactly as he was—in running shorts and sneakers, since they’d been told the session would kick off with a group run.
When she’d told him, “No,” and gone back to stretching, he’d then asked, “What, so you’re a local hire, then?”
She’d finally told him what should’ve been obvious, “I’m here as a camper. Just like you.”
Bull had laughed at that—first in astonishment, and then in horror. “Please God don’t let her be on our team,” he said to his buddy Todd, but loudly enough for Ash to hear him. “Most of us are here to get away from babysitting lesser-thans. Jesus. Just what we need. A girl on the team. Although, I’ve always said that the only thing this place is lacking is a few strategically placed camp followers, heh-heh, if you know what I mean. How about it, Ashley? You up for making some Benjamins on the side, in a little late night one-on-one?”
As the two men laughed, Ashley didn’t respond—she just drifted away. Although, when she looked up, the big SEAL instructor named Lieutenant Slade was watching her closely. He was standing there, planted like a tree, legs slightly spread, big arms folded across his broad chest. He had on cargo shorts today—and had support braces on both knees.
“Listen up, people!” Dunk sped around the camp in an electric vehicle that was a cross between a golf cart and a dune buggy—the tires were designed to handle the soft sand—and he now stood on the driver’s seat, holding onto the roll bar to address the campers.
There were twenty-five of them gathered there—and Ash was indeed the only woman.
What drugs had she been on, when she’d thought coming here would be a good idea…?
“This run is not a contest or a race,” Dunk said.
“This is totally both a contest and a race.” Ash turned to see that Bull had followed her. Great.
“Your task today is to get a baseline,” Dunk continued. “With this run, and with all of the activities throughout the day.”
“It’s all a contest,” Bull also continued. “Up at the range, in the pool, and running the O-course, too—although I’ll bet you’re great at the O. Uhhh, ohhh, uhnnn!” He made orgasm sounds. “Except, oops, it’s not that kind of O. Too bad, huh? I’m pretty freaking good at that kind of O, myself. Happy to show you, anytime you want…”
God. Ashley moved away from him.
“We’re also looking to create teams,” Dunk continued. “We will be grouping you with six other men—” he caught himself “—other people who have different skills set than you. So you may not complete this run with the fastest time. That’s okay. You might instead excel in the obstacle course, or up at the shooting range.”
Shooting range. Ashley was dismayed. That’s what Bull had meant by range. She was not at all interested in learning how to fire a gun.
“If you have not yet disclosed any recent injuries or physical limitations please do so now,” Dunk continued as Ashley once more moved away from Bull. She tried to focus on listening as the former senior chief ran through the fine-print of the agreement that everyone should’ve already read, and then introduced them to Lieutenant Thomas King, the camp’s almost impossibly young hospital corpsman—which was apparently Navy-Speak for medic.
Dunk then introduced the other SEAL instructors. In addition to Lieutenants King and Slade, there was a Lieutenant O’Donlon and a Petty Officer Rosetti. O’Donlon was gleaming and golden, while Rosetti was possibly even younger than Lieutenant King—or maybe that was just an illusion because he was compact and wiry compared to the taller men.
And yet Jim Slade towered over them all….
“I want to stress the fact that our hospital corpsman, Lieutenant King, will be floating free,” Dunk was still saying, “and—I repeat—his authority will override your instructor’s and your team leader’s.”
“Team leaders…?” Wait, weren’t the instructors the team leaders, but crap, Ashley had actually spoken aloud, and Bull had heard her.
“Each team elects a leader from the campers,” he told her. “You should totally volunteer to do it. It’s fun.”
Now, why did she get the sense that it would be anything but…? Ashley moved away from him again as Dunk ran through the last of the rules—what would happen if a camper decided to drop out.
“If, at any time, you suddenly doubt your ability to make it through the program,” he told them, “we urge you to talk to an instructor about modifications that can and will be made to the various exercises. Trust me, we can make it work—said the man with one leg.” He laughed. “I’m hopeful this class will indeed trust me, but history says that two of you will be gone by tonight; another two by tomorrow, and five more by Monday. Don’t let it be you.”
“Or do.” Bull was back. He was standing so close, his breath moved the tendrils of hair on Ashley’s neck. “Do let it be you.”
* * *
Ashley didn’t move. She just closed her eyes and waited for Dunk to signal the start of the run.
All during Dunk’s speech, Jim had watched the big idiot with the shaved head and the camo-print T-shirt pursue the woman. She’d kept moving away from him, yet he’d followed and followed again. From the smirk on the man’s fugly face, and from the color in Ashley’s cheeks, Jim knew that he was being a total tool.
Dunk had warned Jim about the guy. His nickname was Bull, and he and his friend Todd had attended SEAL World twice before. On a scale of zero to douche, he was a double-douche.
Each time he’d followed Ashley and said something no-doubt inappropriate or rude, Jim had expected her to turn around and lay into the guy.
But she didn’t. And she didn’t. And she didn’t again.
The whistle blew, and the woman took off—faster than almost everyone else.
She had runner’s legs—long and muscular. She looked and acted like a powder puff pushover, but in fact, she was strong.
Jim powered up his electric dirt bike and surged ahead to catch up with her. “Hey, Ashley,” he called, and she turned to look at him, her blue eyes shaded beneath her Red Sox cap. “Remember to pace yourself. Gonna be a long day.”
She nodded—so serious—and kept running.
* * *
Jim saw right away that Ashley hated her time at the shooting range. She tried to duck out of it, using her negotiating skills as an attorney to attempt to “opt out,” but Jim hardened his heart and didn’t let her do it.
So as he’d watched, she’d closed her eyes and she’d fired her weapon. She did about as well as could be expected—considering that she’d closed her eyes as she’d fired her weapon.
The O-course was a fiasco for her, too. She had little-to-no upper body strength, and most of the obstacles required strong arms and shoulders. But her brother Clark and his friend Kenneth had stepped up—helping her along.
They were the only ones out of the other twenty-five campers who hadn’t just blown past Ashley.
She’d killed it, however, on the pop calc quiz that the campers had been hit with immediately after lunch. She wasn’t lying when she said she had math skills.
By 1600, they were done. The campers had free time to clean up before dinner as Jim headed into Dunk’s office to help create the teams.
Thomas King and Lucky O’Donlon were already in there. Lucky was sprawled on the big leather sofa, while Thomas sat in a hard-backed chair. He rose as Jim came in, clearly offering him the seat.
“Jeez, King, I’m not your eighty-year-old grandpa,” Jim said, but then realized that, yeah, maybe he was, since the only other places to sit were that too-soft sofa—with his knees at their current level of agony, he’d need a forklift to pull him out of there—or the chair on castors behind Dunk’s desk. And no way was he taking Dunk’s seat.
“Of course not, sir,” Thomas said smoothly. “I was saving it for you, due to your temporary issues. See, with these arm rests…?”
Jim would be able to push himself back to his feet without embarrassing himself. “Thanks, man,” he murmured as he took Thomas’s seat.
“De nada, sir,” Thomas murmured back. “I got you. Your being here is saving my ass.”
From whoever that girl was, who’d obviously taken one look at the young SEAL with his handsome face, his BUD/S-hardened muscles, his ramrod straight posture, and his brilliant leader’s mind combined with the empathic compassion of a hospital corpsman… Whoever she was, the girl was no fool.
But then Rio Rosetti came in, with Dunk right behind him. As always, Rio was talking up a storm.
“He’s an asshole, is what he is, Senior,” he was earnestly telling Dunk. “And if he ends up on my team, I cannot guarantee he’ll survive the session.”
“Let me guess,” Thomas said dryly. “We’re talking about Bull Edison.”
“We are,” Dunk admitted.
Even Lucky made a face. “I say we rotate him and his idiot friend, what’s his name, Tom?”
“Todd,” Jim said in unison with Thomas and Rio.
“That’s not a bad idea,” Dunk said as he perched on the edge of his desk. “Tag-team ’em. We can all handle Bull and Todd for a few days at a time.”
Jim spoke up. “I’ll take ’em.”
They all turned and looked at him. Even Thomas couldn’t hide his surprise.
Jim shrugged. “I actually want them. Along with Ashley, Clark, and Kenneth. Five person team. The rest of you get six.”
Dunk laughed his surprise. “Man, I know you’re fucking nuts, but do you have to prove it so early in the session…? I mean, I was expecting some serious crazy from you, but not until around day three…”
“You do have the rep for owning some serious crazy, Spaceman.” Lucky used Jim’s SEAL-training-acquired nickname as he laughed.
“You actually want them, sir…?” Rio couldn’t believe it.
“I actually do,” Jim answered. “It’s gonna be like an afterschool special movie. Everyone’s gonna learn the shit out of this.”
Lucky was laughing his ass off.
“Learn what?” Dunk asked, starting to laugh, too.
“That… I don’t quite know yet,” Jim admitted.
Thomas was seriously concerned. “Lieutenant Slade, sir,” he started, “since you’ve never been an instructor here before, I would respectfully suggest—”
“No, no, no, nuh-no, Thomas, don’t stop him. This is gonna be so much fun to watch,” Lucky said, still laughing, but Dunk spoke up over them both.
“You want it?” he asked Jim. “You got it. But if I agree to this, my crazy swim-finned brother, you cannot quit. I own you for the next week. No ringing out.”
“Agreed,” Jim promised. “I’m here.”
Dunk grinned. “Bull’s gonna shit bricks and—oh, frabjous day—quite possibly never come back.”
“And then,” Jim said with a smile, “there’s that.”
* * *
Ashley found Clark and Kenneth hunched over the Space Invaders game.
Tonight’s dinner had been surprisingly good—a hearty roast chicken with potatoes and carrots, with a spinach and cucumber salad. She had, however, sat alone since her brother and his friend had gotten there early, inhaled their food, and vanished into the lounge.
It was actually interesting the way the other campers avoided eye contact. They looked past her or over her or through her as the tension in their shoulders shouted Please God, don’t let the creature with the vagina be part of my team.
Once, when she was a kid, she’d stumbled into her older cousin’s boy-cave in the basement of his suburban house. She thought she’d merely been going down to the rec room, but instead she’d entered a loudly proclaimed Boys Only territory. Shouting and screaming had ensued, and her father had pulled her aside to advise that she be more careful in the future, and not violate their “safe space.”
She’d learned to move about more quietly and not call attention to herself. She’d intended to do the same thing here—until she’d found out that she was part of a team.
There was no getting around that. She was going to seriously mess-up someone’s misogynistic day—unless Jim Slade delivered on his suggestion to create a smaller group with only Ash, Clark, and Kenneth.
Ashley poured herself a glass of wine from an open bottle of a very nice California Pinot Noir. As she started to input her PIN into the iPad attached to the bar, Jim appeared and stopped her.
“Tonight, the first one’s on the house,” he said, slipping onto the bar stool next to her.
“To help ease the pain?” she asked as she took a sip. The room was filling up around them, and the anticipation and anxiety was palpable. Or maybe she was projecting.
Jim smiled. “It’s really not going to be that bad.”
For him, perhaps… “So how exactly do we do this team-picking thing?” Ashley asked. “Is there a hat, like in Harry Potter…? Or is it more like the humiliation of middle school gym class?”
“It’s definitely not that,” Jim said. “Although a talking hat would be pretty damn cool.”
She looked at him. “Books or movies?”
“Both were good, in Harry’s case,” he said, “but as a general rule, I prefer the written word.” He smiled again. “And see, that look…? The one you’re giving me—”
“I’m not giving you a look.”
“Yeah. You are. You’re good at hiding it, but it’s back there. It’s the Huh, I took you more for the reality-TV-watching type. In fact, I wasn’t sure you even knew how to read look. It comes from having a face like a pugilist.”
She took another sip of wine. “Nice word.”
“Didn’t want to use boxer and have you thinking that I think I have a face like a dog.” He grinned at her. “It’s not that bad, as far as faces go.”
It certainly wasn’t, but she would never tell him that. Instead, she hid her smile in her glass of wine.
“As far as how we select the teams,” Jim continued, “it’s already been done. Dunk’s gonna come in and read off the assignments. There’s gonna be noise; ignore it if you can—Dunk’ll shut it down. We’ll then meet in groups to assign a TL—a team leader.”
And there came Dunk, into the room followed by Thomas, Rio, and Lucky. Ashley felt her shoulders tense.
“It’s gonna be okay,” Jim murmured.
Ashley turned to him, unable to stop herself from asking, “Should I have quit?”
He laughed. “Only if you thought it would be fun for me to mock you endlessly.”
“Endlessly?” she asked. “I think it would’ve ended when I left in the morning.”
“And I’m pretty sure Dunk has your email address,” Jim said. “I definitely would’ve continued to mock you endlessly from afar.”
“Seriously,” she said. “I know that Dunk would’ve made an exception to his no-refund rule for me. My being here has to be a challenge for him—and for you and the other instructors, too.”
“There’s not a Navy SEAL alive who doesn’t love a good challenge,” Jim pointed out, leaning closer and lowering his voice as the room fell to an anticipatory hush.
“Good evening,” Dunk said. “Did everyone enjoy Lieutenant Slade’s chicken?”
Ashley turned to see Jim giving a pope-wave and laughed. “You cooked that dinner?”
“Such incredulity,” he said sotto voce as Dunk continued to speak, explaining how he was going to announce the teams, who would then break off into groups to get to know one another.
“Not that you cooked it,” Ashley lowered her voice to tell Jim. “It was crazy delicious, by the way—but that you somehow had time.”
“A man, a plan, and a roaster with a lid,” he whispered back. “Or in this case, when feeding thirty-ish people, an abundance of roasters with lids, and a team of sous chefs or grunts as we call ’em in the service—the carrot and potato peelers. I drizzled the olive oil and applied the spices and put the exact amount of water in the bottom of the pans. Everything mixed together and… Into the oven for two hours—with that lid, you cannot overcook, you can only make it better. There’s time to shower and even attend a meeting or two. Excuse me.”
Yes, Dunk had just requested his SEAL instructors join him at the front of the room for the team announcements.
As Ashley watched Jim Slade walk across the lounge—trying not to limp—she realized that maybe, just maybe, this next week wasn’t going to be as awful as she’d imagined.
She and Jim, along with Clark and Kenneth, might actually have fun and…
Theirs was the first team announced. “Lt. Jim Slade will be instructor for Team One, which includes Ashley DeWitt, Clark DeWitt, Kenneth Price…”
And there it was except, inexplicably, Dunk kept going.
“…Todd Grotto and Dwight “Bull” Edison.”
“What…?” Bull put voice to what they all were thinking, his what going up several octaves to High-Soprano-Land. “What the hell!”
Ashley was too stunned to speak. Todd and Bull were part of their team…? She looked over at Jim, but he was not looking at her, and with a sinking heart she realized his admonishment for her not to quit had probably not been entirely honest.
“Settle down there,” Dunk said as the men in the room who were not Bull or Todd murmured their relief. “Moving on to Team Two,” Dunk announced, but whatever he said after that, Ashley had no idea.
All she could think was, shit… shit!