Helen loved the trip to Morehead City, North Carolina to pick up Marines. Sakes alive, that sounded naughty, which delighted her even more. This would be her third deployment, or embarkation as the Marines called it, since becoming part of the USS New York. Hopefully it would be her last. That was, if Gwyn Pritchard could help her figure out what she needed to do to join Bud. At least Helen had finally found a living soul she could communicate with. Made things so much easier—and heaps more fun.
They’d sailed to North Carolina along with the other ships in the Amphibious Ready Group. The ARG consisted of the New York, the USS O’Bannon Hall, and the larger “big deck” ship, the USS Guadalcanal. Big decks supplied services such as doctors, dentists, lawyers, and other specialties to Marines and sailors from all the ships in the battle group. They also carried the mother lode of MV-22 Osprey aircraft that would fly on later in the day.
The smaller New York would receive only two Ospreys, along with a Navy Seahawk helicopter for transportation and deliveries between ships and shore. Even two Ospreys would have been exciting for her husband if he were here. How Helen wished she could share today’s Marine Corps with him.
And how she loved seeing Marines in uniform. Of course they rarely wore their dress uniforms on board ship—the kind Bud had been wearing the night she met him. Today was a sea of khaki, gray, and green camouflage, as the buses from Camp Lejeune deposited the troops on the pier. They marched up the gangway, loaded down with their rucksacks and M-16s, heads down, strong legs pumping them up, up, up the brow and onto the ship. She’d heard there would be six hundred ninety-seven by the time they were all aboard. Which made six hundred ninety-nine with Gunny Connor and his warrant officer boss.
Helen observed Adam on the quarterdeck watching his mates embark. She was glad to see the sling was gone. His shoulder appeared to be healing nicely from his spill off the bicycle. How delightful to watch him welcome the Marines, slapping their palms with his, high in the air. This was mother’s milk to him—or perhaps that was a poor choice of words. Adam Connor had never tasted mother’s milk. But it was the same sort of thing, because he had learned to substitute the Corps for everything he’d lacked in life.
Even a father figure.
* * *
Adam had an extra skip in his step today. Not only were his brother Marines embarking, but one very special officer would be coming aboard: Lieutenant Colonel Demetrius McLachlan. Adam had been thrilled when he’d learned that Colonel Mac was the new Commanding Officer of the New York’s Battalion Landing Team of the 23rd Marine Expeditionary Unit, which would deploy with them.
The Colonel had been the Operations Officer at Adam’s battalion in Helmand Province, Afghanistan. Because of the rough and sudden way it had all ended, he’d become more than just another officer to this gunnery sergeant. On the worst night of Adam’s life, Mac had been the voice on the other end of the radio, reasoning with Adam to pull his convoy together and get them to where they could Med-Evac to safety.
That’s when it all began. That night in Helmand. The night Kosloski died. Mac had been there for his gunny. Maybe the Colonel had ordered Adam to leave his dead buddy pinned in a vehicle in enemy territory, but Mac had made damn sure he lived up to his end of the deal until recovery teams could get Kosloski out.
And it was Mac who had visited his gunny at the field hospital in Bastion. He’d made one hell of a scene when the chief corpsman told him Adam’s wounds were too severe for him to meet the Angel Flight bringing Kosloski’s body back to the airfield.
No way was Mac falling for that crap.
Adam chuckled at the memory of the Colonel commandeering an ambulance and driver—the two men running with Adam’s stretcher between them—to load him into the ambulance, so he could greet Angel Flight fifty-two. Adam choked up at what came next. Accompanied by three British soldiers playing “Amazing Grace” on bagpipes, Ryan Kosloski had been returned to his team. And Colonel Mac had given Adam the privilege of saying a proper farewell to his best friend.
It had been Mac who, upon reading the statements and logs of the ambush, had recommended and pushed for Adam’s Bronze Star, even though it was not something Adam had wanted in a million years. But the Colonel had made the case to the Marine Corps that his gunny had earned that award fair and square in the ambush of Chuck Wagon Eleven in Jalil Pass. Adam wore the Bronze Star, but to this day he still felt undeserving. Their friendship, and the mutual respect he and Mac shared, was more important to him.
Adam stopped one of the staff sergeants on the quarterdeck. After greeting him, he asked, “When’s the Old Man coming aboard?”
The Marine informed him, “Colonel McLachlan’s arriving with the landing craft.”
“Thanks, Staff Sergeant. Welcome aboard.” So it was true. Mac would be here with him for the next six months. A rush spread through Adam’s chest. A smile blossomed on his face. This must be how real families felt at a family reunion.
* * *
Helen read joy in Adam’s soul as he left for the well deck to accept the vehicles. She followed the staff sergeant to troop berthing to check on Jeremy and Kelly—and very likely Captain Martin, since he was spending more and more time with the flight attendant and her charge. That lit up Helen’s soul. How she’d love to see Kelly and the airline pilot go off to the light together, hand in hand. Well, after the boy was in his grandmother’s arms, of course.
The female spirits never ventured into berthing except on embarkation day. It would not be proper since the Marines might be in various states of undress. Since Jeremy needed to stay with the flight attendant at all times, he rarely visited troop berthing, so embarkation day was a treat for him. He liked to bounce Bongo on the beds—or racks, as the Marines and sailors called them—and play “not allowed to touch the deck” by flying from top bunk to top bunk.
The Marines only stayed in berthing long enough to drop their heavy rucksacks on their beds before heading to the armory to check in their weapons. All were unaware that a seven-year old boy was climbing up and down the three-story racks like a monkey or flitting from bunk to bunk like a flying squirrel soaring from tree to tree. Jeremy made Bongo bounce on a top bunk then. Holding out the dog’s floppy ears like wings, Jeremy made him fly through the air to the bed below. Helen loved to see Jeremy play since he did it so rarely. Kelly gave a small, trembling smile at his antics and Helen was glad to see Kelly lighten up. She was far too serious most of the time.
“Are you all set, nut muffin?” Helen asked the child. “Ready to go to the armory?” The little boy’s face lit up as he climbed down and retrieved Bongo after his last flight.
Surely Jeremy’s eyes would pop out of his head when they entered the armory. Kelly looked at Helen apprehensively as Jeremy slid his fingers over the M-16s, the heavy machine guns, the light mortars, and the bayonets. She nodded to Kelly that everything was fine when the child made guns with his fingers and shouted out all kinds of shoot-’em-up boy noises. Helen didn’t think his mum or grandmother would approve of him playing in the armory, but Jeremy’s smiles were few and far between. He did love embarkation day after months of no Marines on board. And it was the only day his caretakers let him go near the weapons.
“Are you sure this is okay, Helen?” Kelly asked. “You know, the guns and everything? It seems so violent.”
“Relax, dear,” Helen replied. “He’s a boy. It’s the nature of the beast. I tried to shield my sons from all guns, including toy ones and water pistols. It didn’t matter. They fashioned their own out of sticks and gift-wrap tubes. When I put the kibosh on that, they chewed their toast into the shape of pistols and shot each other at the breakfast table. It’s what boys do.”
“If you’re sure,” Kelly said. But she didn’t look too certain about it.
“Can we go watch the rolling stock come aboard now?” Jeremy asked.
“Whatever you want to do,” Kelly replied, taking his hand.
Helen took charge of Bongo, so she could hold Jeremy’s other hand as they headed up to the well deck to watch the vehicles come aboard.
The Marine Corps was part of the Navy. They were the troops who would turn a sea battle into a land battle. The vehicles that would help them do it were rolling into the belly of the USS New York. Like a tailgate on a loading dock, the stern gate had opened onto the pier at Berth Nine, allowing the rolling stock to drive aboard the ship. Adam Connor was in the midst of the action; clipboard and load plan in hand, ensuring every vehicle was parked perfectly, since space on Navy ships was at a premium. When he wasn’t directing the drivers, he was supervising the Marines chaining the vehicles down so they wouldn’t shift at sea. Helen liked how Adam took every opportunity to teach his Marines new skills, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant.
In addition to speaking Gun, Jeremy was fluent in Truck as well. His sound effects accompanied the tanks, trucks, and Humvees as they drove into the well and up the ramps to the upper and lower vehicle stowage decks. Helen marveled at the choreography that put each vehicle in a precise location, smoothly and quickly. Everything was combat loaded, so what might be needed first in a crisis situation was the last to board.
Once the New York got underway, it would receive two LCAC’s—or Landing Craft Air Cushions. These giant hovercrafts could glide over waves, right up onto a beach, riding on a cushion of air. They were capable of transporting the rolling stock, along with weapons, supplies, cargo, and equipment from ship to shore for an exercise or land assault. Bud would be so impressed with the fancy equipment the Marines had these days.
With all the vehicles aboard, the massive stern gate closed. The gangway was raised and the lines were taken in. Tugboats pulled the USS New York away from Berth Nine and headed her out to sea. They were now officially haze gray and underway.
Depending on whom Helen listened to, the Marines would perform various tasks over the next six months. The Marines stated they trained every day and worked out to remain in good physical condition. They performed live fire shooting drills on the flight deck and practiced scenarios for different missions. They would hold both physical and classroom training sessions.
According to the sailors on board—and she could quote them directly: “The Marines work out, eat, sleep, shit, and generally take up space.” And they would go ashore in various allied countries to perform amphibious assault exercises to keep the tip of the spear sharp—which kept them from taking up space.
Helen and Kelly took Jeremy’s hands and returned to the well deck to await the arrival of the LCACs. Helen watched Adam Connor. He had finished his responsibilities with combat cargo and was now queuing up to observe the recovery of the landing craft as well. No, better yet, he was watching Gwyn from across the well deck as she waited for the LCACs. How lovely to see the light shine in his eyes these days—and it wasn’t just because his brothers were now on board, with his mentor soon to arrive. Although Adam considered the Corps his family, his soul had lit up before the Marines even embarked. He may not have shown it to the world, but Adam had looked like a new man for the past two weeks, ever since the night he took Gwyn dancing.
And since he returned from Jekyll Island, he had positively glowed.
Helen loved watching love blossom. She’d observed both Adam and Gwyn since the young Wren had reported on board and read their souls the same way. Both had feelings for the other, yet both denied it. All Helen could reckon was that Gwyn was being cautious because as an officer she was not supposed to fraternize with an NCO, as it should be. At least aboard ship.
But Adam’s denial went deeper. Way down deep where he stored his pain. There was always an edge to his happiness. Any possible joy was always overshadowed by the fear of abandonment by yet another person he cared about. Helen could see it in the defensive set to his mouth as he watched Gwyn. As if he didn’t quite trust her. Hells bells, more like he didn’t trust the world.
But that was going to change if Helen Monroe had anything to say about it.