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Even as we drove through the dimly lit streets, we noticed barely-adult kids hanging around garages and outside deserted buildings, their eyes bearing the sure signs of drugs. Oakmont belonged to a free carry state, which meant most of them would also be packing.
Oh, they'd do it in the name of "protecting" themselves from lynchings, but the undercurrent of racism here was high, and in most cases, carrying firearms was nothing more than a desperate attempt to preserve a fast-fading status quo.
"So, what do we know about thetango?"
We'd gone back to the comfort of our SEAL language. You could take the man away from the marines, but you could never get the marine out of his blood.
Where would I even begin?
I started as I did when I was about to launch into an exploration of my own life.
1999
As the black SUV pulled onto the base at Dam Neck Annex, Petty Officer First Class Omar "Bear" Wazir turned to his teammate, Petty Officer Second Class, Miguel "Thunder" Sanchez.
"Welcome to the Beach House, Thunder," Bear said with a deep chuckle. "This is where the baddest of the bad come to train."
I nodded, looking out the window at the sprawling complex of training facilities separated by acres and acres of sand. "Damn, this place is huge," I said. "What's the deal with the different teams here?"
Bear chuckled. "There's SEAL Team two, four, and the SEAL Qualification Training program—but we don't call ‘em unless shit hits the fan. We're it, baby. SEAL team six, best of the best.”
I whistled appreciatively. I'd hustled hard to get here. "No shit. I heard you guys are like the Jedi knights of the Navy."
Bear smirked. "We don't like to brag, but yeah, we're pretty darn good." He pointed out the window. "That's where we do our Close Quarters Combat training. And that's the parachute loft. We're the only team in the Navy that jumps with oxygen masks."
I shook my head, still amazed at being there. "I can't believe all of this is happening. It's surreal. It's like SEAL Mecca."
"You're here, baby. Get used to it!"
2021
"Omar Wazir was part of SEAL Team Six," I replied instead of saying what came to my mind first. Technically, I wasn't hiding anything from Paladin. I was just giving ... relevant data.
"I know that," Asher said impatiently. He leaned back in the driver's seat. The tired silver-gray exterior of the sedan blended in seamlessly with the other cars on the road, with the tinted windows giving us just enough privacy to stay concealed from prying eyes.
"But, do you know anything else about his time there? You told us you served with the unit for some time, right?"
I shrugged my broad shoulders evasively. "I wasn't there too long to form an opinion. But he was good, I'll give you that. I stayed in touch with some frogmen from the older unit."
"Tell me more."
"He was one of the best operatives in the field—incredible physical strength, a sharp mind, and great at handling high-stress situations."
Paladin let out a low whistle. "He had to be good, being part of unit six and all."
"Yup, he was a name in most of the high-profile missions for the Gov. I know some never got disclosed, but y'know what they involved."
We both did. Tracking and eliminating high-value targets in the Middle East. Wazir was probably the most skilled sniper I'd known. He didn't kill. He fucking annihilated.
"When I served in Unit Six, he was something of a living, walking legend. He'd come off a pretty successful mission—rescuing American hostages from a terrorist cell in Syria. He executed that op flawlessly. The man got a personal commendation from the President himself."
Paladin gave me a side-eye. "I read about that case. It's funny how things changed so fast."
I nodded bleakly. "His discharge was kept under wraps. He was Gunnery Sargent when it happened. I heard lots of different stories.
“Some said he was caught embezzling funds. Others said he was involved in a secret mission that went wrong. I only know it was bad enough to destroy his sterling reputation and leave him adrift."
"Not for long, though, right?"
