Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,45
his best bud was gone. There was no sun in the sky, no stars in the heavens. Just that black hole in his heart.
Kenny had loved the Corps, almost as much as he’d loved the dripping wet blade now resting in Walker’s hand. Which was why Walker had it. Why he prized it above any other KA-BAR, Sheffield, or standard SEAL issue, Ontario MK III. Just because it had once belonged to Kenny, and he’d loved it. And because Kenny was gone.
“I am Navy. This blade… belonged to a friend.” My best friend, Walker told the knife silently.
“Sure sorry,” Brimley said, as if he’d heard the real truth buried in those few words.
Walker gave him that. Swallowed hard. Locked his heart up one more time and refused to share the worst heartache of his life. Yes, losing Mom and Dad to cancer within months of each other had been bad, but losing his brother shortly after was a hundred times worse. Kenny’d been so young, so green. So much a part of his big brother’s dreams and hopes. But so hellbent on saving America. Shit, the pain never went away.
“You gonna put that shark meat inside before Rover drools on it, or what?”
With Brimley’s dig, everything shifted back to normal.
“You bet,” Walker replied as he dried the blade on the towel at his side, then stowed Kenny’s treasured knife into the sheath on his belt. He’d stopped wearing his holster once Brim came aboard, but the knife was never far away. Walker hoisted both fillets off the deck and out of Rover’s reach, then headed below deck to the galley.
Hurriedly, he rinsed the shark meat in the stainless-steel sink, then drained the rinse water. Refilling the sink, he left one fillet covered with cold water. He meant to grill it for lunch with the last of the tomatoes he’d picked up during their shopping trip to the latest village. Deftly, he wrapped the other fillet in the white, waxed butcher paper he’d found behind the galley door, then placed it in the freezer side of the full-sized refrigerator/freezer combo.
There was something about all the white packages in the freezer that made a man proud. Maybe it was the caveman embedded in every red-blooded male’s DNA to provide for the future. Walker didn’t know.
When he strolled topside, Rover was once again hanging over the rail, while Brimley pointed to the frisky pod of dolphins breaking through the rippling waves portside. “I’m going swimming. You with me, Rover, old boy?”
Rover barked because, well, that was what Rover did best. Whatever Brim said, he was quick to agree, always boisterously.
“Wait up,” Walker called as he dug one of the yacht’s two inflatable dinghies out of the upper aft deck’s storage chest. “Let’s give Rover a place to land in case he gets tired of puppy-paddling.”
But by then, Brimley’s toes were wrapped over the edge of the swimmer’s deck, he’d leaned forward, and he was ready to dive in, clothes and all.
“You might want to change into swim trunks,” Walker warned. “Those jeans’ll turn mighty heavy when wet.”
“Nah. I got nothing but lint in my pockets. Come on, Doggo,” Brimley urged Rover. “Let’s cool off before lunch. One. Two. Three!”
SPLASH! Both dog and man leaped overboard, the best way to end a successful fishing contest.
Walker hit the self-inflate tab on the eight-by-five dinghy, then dropped it overboard while it filled itself to the manufacturers’ approved level. Tying the dinghy’s drop-line to the railing, he tied another loose rope to the opposite rail, just in case someone needed a hand-up. One could never take enough safety precautions when swimming in the wild Atlantic. Shit happened, and Walker wasn’t sure of Brimley’s health or his swimming skills. Why take chances?
With one hand, Walker stripped his shirt over his head and tossed it to one of the recliners. He traded his khakis for swim trunks. Climbing onto the rail, he planted both feet and balanced there with his eyes closed, his face in the sun, and the ocean wind in his nose.
At the moment, Persia Smiles bobbed lazily between the northwestern end of the Azorean islands of Ilha do Pico and the southeastern edge of Ilha do Faial. Talk about fair seas and blue skies. Felt like paradise. Just what Walker needed, a different kind of peace and quiet. A better kind of calm.
It was good to be alive. So. So. Good. He relaxed. He could breathe. Most likely because he was the skipper of a fine