Hemingway - Zoe Dawson Page 0,57

rest of the day went off without incident. Lane notified them that they were keeping Brown overnight for observation, but as far as they could tell, he didn’t have a concussion.

After Lane left, Professor said softly, “You saved his life. That’s something bro.”

“We saved his life. It was a team effort.” They bumped knuckles, and Hemingway was relieved Brown was all right.

Mad Max stood in the hallway outside the conference room where the First Phase Review Board had convened. They met to review individual trainee performance and in addition to their physical performance standards, they had to show teamwork, professionalism, and a no quit attitude.

There were seventeen men who would be assessed, and either be rolled back or removed from training and sent back to the fleet to reapply for BUD/S at a later date. He was surprised to see Hemingway there. He’d passed all his evolutions, some earning him the respect of the instructors.

“Do you know why I’m here?” he asked Max after the last of the seventeen students had gone through the door. He was dressed in starched fatigues, his boots polished to a spit shine.

“No, but I wouldn’t worry about it.” It was Max’s job to usher in each of the trainees, starting with the worst performers. They got an earful of reprimands and asked to speak to their deficiencies. Max could see on each face that their SEAL dream could end right here.

Finally, Hemingway was called, and Max walked him into the room.

“Seaman Atticus Sinclair reporting as ordered.” He carried his green BUD/S helmet under his arm.

All the First Phase instructors were there, seated at a long, polished conference table. Nathan Walker said, “At ease.”

Hemingway relaxed.

“We wanted to bring you in for a formal commendation for your quick reaction in pulling Seaman Brown out of the surf. You saved his life, and we all think it was well done.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You went to college and got your bachelor’s degree, Sinclair,” Cheezer said.

“Yes, Instructor Cheezer. I went to Stanford. I was accepted at the Naval Academy and my brother-in-law Petty Officer Ashe Wilder insisted I go. He didn’t win.”

“Stanford, right with a double major in computer science and international relations with a minor in Middle Eastern language, literature and culture.” He set down the file. “Why didn’t you attend the academy?” Cheezer asked as if he was really interested.

“Stanford was only seven miles from San Diego and Annapolis was all the way across the US. When I become a SEAL, I’m going to be deployed a lot. I may even end up on the East Coast. I wanted to be close to my family, Instructor.”

Cheezer’s expression softened, then he cleared his throat and said, “Why didn’t you come into BUD/S as an officer? You certainly have the physical and mental capacity to succeed there.”

“With all due respect, I wanted to be on the teams for the long term. Officers have a short shelf life, combat-wise, and are required to move on. As it should be. The teams need good leadership as well as tough, tactical minds. Also, I want to be a SEAL more than anything and my chances of getting a contract were better as an enlisted member.”

“So you did it the SEAL way, eh?” Cheezer sat back and a couple of the instructors nodded. “Well, we’re all in consensus. You would make a fine officer, but as enlisted men ourselves, we respect your motivations. Keep up the good work.”

Max could barely contain the pride he had for Hemingway. They had mentored him and believed in him, and he was doing an exemplary job. Max beamed.

But Hemingway and the rest of them were going to be tested. Hell Week was next and it would weed out the mentally and physically weak, leaving the strong and worthy to move forward as SEALs.

Max had no doubt Hemingway would be one of them.

“Nothing will ever prepare you for what you’re going to go through,” Ruckus said, lifting the beer bottle to his mouth. The guys around the table agreed with nods and a knowing look in the eyes. Something Hemingway realized was happening to him, a shared experience among the elite forces that worked undercover of secrecy to protect the US every waking moment. It was a heavy burden to bear and everyone at this table had gone through it.

During BO, the trainees had been cautioned about going to any of the SEAL bars downtown, but Hemingway had been invited by Mad Max.

“Nothing. The only thing you can do