okay? I think the Navy would let me know if something bad has happened to you. Anyway, I wish you would contact me somehow. Even a brief email.
Oh well, I will stop now, and I will contact you when something comes up.
Love,
Mom
Shawn set all the email copies on the table next to his bunk and lay back onto his bed. His face was blank, but his thoughts whirled through his mind. Learning about his stepfather’s death was confusing. He didn’t really hate him but recognized how his changes after Ellie’s death had made things awful for his mother. Hank’s death had been a blessing in a way, but he could tell his mother was overwhelmed by the responsibilities of the ranch. Leaving the management of the ranch to his uncle left Shawn feeling uncomfortable.
What is going to happen to the ranch? I wish I could be back there right now, helping out with the feeding and the decisions. I know that Uncle Jeff has to be there to help Mom, but I don’t like how he just takes over. I should be doing that. It’s really stupid of me to even think about this. I can’t do a damn thing about it. I hate this! It’s like watching my life go haywire and not be able to do anything about it. Fuck this! If I hadn’t killed Ellie and if I hadn’t beat up Lawrence, I would be able to take care of things. Shit! Things would be better all around.
Negative thoughts continued to dominate Shawn’s mind for hours. Tossing and turning with images of the failures in his life merged with dreams of reaching out for his sister and his mother. Shawn awoke at 0500 bathed in sweat and feeling exhausted. As his mind began to clear, he decided it would be best if he wrote an email to his mother. He would say as little as possible and emphasize some recent events that had a positive outcome. As he began to compose his thoughts, he had to fight off sadness and anger over recent events.
Shawn called the guard over and requested access to a computer. He was surprised when he was told that he would have to get permission from his psychologist. It was difficult to relax since he had made up his mind to communicate with his mother. He was left sitting with his decision. He would seek permission when he met with Lieutenant Commander Stevens.
Chapter 4
Silencing Lawrence
The common room in the barracks where Shawn Bryant’s SEAL team unit was located while the investigation was in progress was a mess. The team had moved into this small barracks over a week ago, and no one was taking responsibility for organizing or cleaning. Food wrappers that had missed the basket were strewn over the floor, dishes, attracting flies; and clothes were everywhere but where they should be. Chief Petty Officer Sam Trotter, the team’s neat freak, had been in sick bay for the entire time with an infected leg wound. The wound had festered and become dangerous. After brief surgery, a significant round of antibiotics, and rest, his condition improved, and he was released back to the team.
The team, which was a subunit of the larger SEAL Team Six, was composed of eight sailors: Chief Trotter and seven other enlisted men. Shawn was in the brig, Lawrence was in the hospital, and Trotter was just returning. Trotter arrived and entered without knocking. Every member was still in the sack at 0800 hours. Trotter’s wiry torso was usually taut, but when he saw the condition of the barracks, he became rigid. His roman nose was nearly touched by his pursed lips, and his eyes bored holes in the dozing bodies of his men. The remaining five team members were oblivious, but not for long. Shortly after examining the damage, Chief Trotter started bellowing.
“Get up, you slobs! A few days away, and you forget how to keep your space.”
He went from bunk to bunk, shaking them violently. Chief Trotter did not wait for a response.
When he had roused each SEAL team member, he stood at the door with a deep frown.
“I am going for a walk. When I return in one hour, this place will be in order, or I will be taking names and kicking asses!”
As he walked out of the door, he could hear plaintive, “Oh, Chief,” “We’ll need more than an hour,” and “This is not my mess.”
He turned back to the door and exclaimed, “Get it done! We will have a meeting when I get back. There are things we need to discuss, and this pigsty needs to be presentable. Get it done! You now have fifty-eight minutes!”
Trotter turned brusquely and marched off, moving his arms back and forth with clenched fists. He hated dirty and unkempt places. At times, he felt like all of Afghanistan was dirty and unkempt, but he wasn’t responsible for that. The messy barracks was an affront to him and an embarrassment if one of the SEAL team officers or, God forbid, a high-ranking officer should see the building’s condition. At the same time, Chief Trotter knew there were bigger concerns. He didn’t realize that those bigger concerns were making him more sensitive to the mess in the barracks. In fact, the whole day was feeling messy. He felt better physically, but after his conversation with Lieutenant Commander Carl Stevens, he was having difficulty managing his emotions. He had a lot to talk about with his team. After he had the meeting, he would have to communicate with the officer in charge of the unit, Lieutenant Jeff Walters. Chief Trotter dreaded that conversation.
When Trotter returned from his vigorous walk, he felt better. The team had made progress in cleaning the barracks. Although it was not up to the chief’s standards, he was feeling less volatile about it. Some team members were still scurrying about when he walked through the door. He watched Third Class Petty Officer Sam Deppard shove the dustpan in the closet and then stand up, saying, “Well, we did it.” As far as Chief Trotter was concerned, it was not done, but it would have to do.
“Okay, Sam, tell everybody to join me in the common area here—immediately,” he ordered.
“Got it, Chief.”
Two minutes later, all the remaining members of the sub-SEAL team were seated or standing in the common area of the barracks. Chief Trotter cleared his throat and began to speak.
“You all know that our team has been held off any actions in the field because of the fight between Lawrence and Bryant. This incident has created problems for us, but also for headquarters. I just spoke with one of the representatives of the officers participating in the incident investigation. They plan to interview Lawrence next and then each of you who witnessed the fight. You may know that Lawrence is still in the hospital and recovering from a fractured jaw. He is expected to be able to verbally answer to an investigator in about two weeks. He won’t fully recover for some time, and it is unclear if he will be reassigned to this team when he does get well enough.”
There were groans among the team.
Trotter paused. “What’s that all about?”
At first, no one spoke. Then Second Class Petty Officer Trevor Richards started to talk. “This has been really shitty,” he said. “It’s making us crazy around here.”
“I know it’s been hard,” Trotter commiserated.
“I don’t know what to think about this,” Richards added. “I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to one of us, even Lawrence, but if he wasn’t a SEAL, I wouldn’t spend two minutes with him.”
There was a consensual nodding, and one other team member said, “That goes for me too.”
Richards seemed to be the informal spokesperson for the group. He continued, “I think I can speak for the group when I say that we really hope that Bryant is not railroaded on this.”
“That’s
