“Practice makes perfect.” Spencer didn’t add the flirty wink that desperately wanted to come out, but he still knew they were on thin ice.
“Who says I haven’t had practice?” Bacon seemed shocked at his own words, neck flushing and looking away as soon as he spoke. So, even though he was curious as hell, Spencer let it drop.
“Lead me to the boat,” he commanded instead. Flirting with Bacon—even if Bacon were more open to that than he’d previously suspected—could only lead to trouble. And he did not need the mental image of Bacon on his knees, working hard to defeat his gag reflex...
Nope. Better off focusing on the coming boat ride. The boat crew was already waiting for them, a group of energetic men who seemed every bit as fit and capable as the SEALs. The Mark V looked not unlike a heavily armored small yacht—it was probably under one hundred feet, but it easily held the SEAL team with padded seats for everyone. It had a low, angular profile, every square millimeter of space allocated for tactical functionality. Bacon showed him how the boat held four small rubber boats known as CRRCs and how the smaller boats could be driven right up the stern, making insertion and extraction fast.
He also pointed out the weapons capabilities, and even though this was a training mission, a gunner from the boat crew stood at the ready, underscoring the seriousness of the operation.
“Did Petty Officer Bacon give you the anti-nausea medication?” The LT strode over, interrupting Bacon’s tour and making Spencer stand a little straighter.
“Yes, sir. I’m ready. What can you tell me about the plan for today?”
“Not much.” The LT was clipped, as per his usual. “When we get close to our target island, Team Alpha—our best eight men—will take out the CRRCs and slip closer before performing a combat swim to shore and practicing reaching their mission objective. Team Bravo and you will stay on the Mark V, ready to provide support. Assuming the comm system works, you’ll be able to listen in on the proceedings.”
“Awesome.” Next to him, Bacon bristled, and Spencer knew how badly he wanted to be one of the guys heading out in the smaller boats, in the thick of the action.
“Then we’ll all convene on the island for some training before we head back. You two will stay at a distance during the training, but again you should be able to listen in.”
“Understood.”
“This is training, but these aren’t always the most peaceful waters. Listen to Petty Officer Bacon if anything starts going off plan.” And with that, the LT left with a flourish, heading over to the XO and senior chief.
Bacon handed him a helmet that had built-in communications capabilities like those worn by both the SEALs and the crew. “Our channels are flipped off. We can listen in, but they won’t be able to hear us back.”
“Got it.”
“Strap in,” Bacon ordered him as the boat engines started. “They’ll start slow, but once they get into open water, the crew’s gonna let loose.”
And he wasn’t kidding. The boat picked up speed until it was busting over waves, rattling Spencer’s teeth and bones. He could tell when they were getting close to the objective because there was a flurry of well-organized activity as the crew got one of the smaller boats ready to launch. Every person seemed to know their role, working in concert without much talking—not that much conversation was possible over the roar of the engines. The SEALs were in wetsuits, prepared for a long swim.
The XO would be leading this phase of the mission, and he yelled, “Go, go, go,” as the men loaded into the small craft, and it launched into the inky sea.
Listening in was riveting—the XO had his men well-trained and they were ready to start their swim, taking orders well. The LT and senior chief watched the proceedings on a large flat-screen monitor that showed radar locations among other data.
“And we’re away,” the XO’s voice crackled over the comm system. There was the barest sound of a splash as the team left the smaller craft. And then in what felt like barely a chance to breathe, the boat was back with only its pilot on board. The SEALs in the water had on tracking devices, so the command was able to follow their every movement.
The progress of the team was slow and painstaking, but Spencer couldn’t look away from the screens. The Mark V continued on its course, albeit at less of a breakneck pace now, and eventually the shore of a small island came into view. It was sort of miraculous how the ocean could be endlessly blue, no breaks, and then suddenly an island seemed to appear as if by magic.
“Now it’s our turn to load up,” Bacon yelled at him. “We’re ready for the rendezvous.”