four miles off. But that wasn’t the point.
Changing the way a man thought could be done by teaching him. Altering the way he reacted without thought meant tampering with his instincts.
LB didn’t know much about the kid floating beside the Zodiac because Robey himself couldn’t know. The most important item had yet to be determined. Limits. The comfort zone. That’s why they were out here training. To find the boundaries in each man and in the team, then shove them back.
Robey looked relieved and expectant. None of the PJs offered him a hand into the raft. Robey lapped a brown arm over the inflated side. With his foot, LB pushed the young lieutenant’s arm back into the water.
Robey gazed up from the bobbing sea. “LB?”
“You’re not here right now.”
Quincy and Doc said nothing.
“Let me into the raft.”
“No. You flew over the RAMZ. You landed upwind, and it left you behind. What if it was nighttime? What if it’s pitch-black and we can’t find you? Now you’re not one of the rescuers, not a CRO or a PJ. You can’t help the team because you’ve become a liability. We can’t do our mission because we’re looking for you. Somebody else, some survivor we were supposed to rescue, might die in the meantime. Rule number one for a PJ: Never become the one who needs rescuing. Ever. So you stay in the water till we locate you. Sir.”
Robey tightened his lips. He floated another yard from the raft.
LB looked away from Robey. “I can’t see you. Blow your whistle.”
The lieutenant glared up. He took a sip from his straw to moisten his mouth, then put the plastic whistle tied to his buoyancy vest to his lips. He blew a shrill tweet.
“Didn’t hear it. Too much wind and waves out here at night. Keep it up.”
The three PJs waited, rolling over the rippling seas while Robey blew on the whistle.
“Hey”—LB addressed Quincy and Doc, behind him—“did you hear something?” They looked away. Both had gotten this business from LB early in their PJ lives.
“Hit your strobe. Maybe we can see you.”
Bobbing, glistening from seawater and sweat, Robey turned on the flashing light attached to his vest. The emitter pulsed meekly in the African sun. His face took on a pinched, determined mien, a laser focus that LB knew well, a young man’s defiance.
LB looked far out to sea beneath a shielding hand. “I think I caught a glimpse of something. Dunno. Pull out your buzz saw.”
Digging below the water to his fanny pack, Robey unraveled a long string attached to a Cyalume glow stick. He bent the stick to activate the chemicals inside, then twirled the vivid green light around his head on the string.
“Guys,” LB finally said, pointing at Robey, bobbing five yards away, “there he is.”
Blank-faced, the LT dropped the ChemLight into the water. He cut off his flashing strobe to kick closer to the Zodiac. LB reached down, and Robey grabbed his hand.
LB lowered the lieutenant’s grip to a rubber handhold on the raft’s side.
“Hang on tight, sir. Quincy?”
The big PJ cranked the engine. He gunned it, spinning the Zodiac around.
For fifteen minutes the PJs coursed back and forth across the waves, collecting their spilled chutes and containers. They hauled them in like fishing nets while Robey clung to the handhold, ignored.
When they’d recovered the chutes, Quincy pointed the Zodiac west to the beach, where the riggers waited with Land Rovers and a trailer for the raft.
The Zodiac couldn’t reach top speed because of Robey’s drag. The PJs all sat in hot wetsuits and itchy sweat. LB saw little sense in making himself, Doc, and Quincy pay any longer for Robey’s mistake.
LB let the kid hang on for two more bouncing, tough minutes, then gave Quincy the kill signal. The Zodiac slowed to a few knots. Robey couldn’t heave himself over the side. Doc reeled him in.
Chapter 4
Camp Lemonnier
Djibouti
At the Barn, all the team’s equipment was cleaned first. Doc, Quincy, LB, and Robey sprayed down the Zodiac, flushed and re-oiled the engine. Robey handled his end of the chores in silence. After the raft and chutes were squared away, they went their separate ways to deal with personal gear, then lunch. LB rinsed his wetsuit and scuba stuff, then hung them to dry in his locker. The team was in a surly mood, anticipating the debriefing set for 2:00 p.m., in ninety minutes, after lunch. Everyone, including the PJs and support crew who weren’t on today’s training mission, was required