Page 36 of Luck Be Mine (The Defenders #3)

? Remembrance and Tradition ?

Perfect days in San Diego were common. Today proved the rule.

The warm November day dwelled in the bright sun clinging in the sky, and an ocean breeze left a fresh breath behind.

The upcoming solemn ceremony would be quiet sniffles, heavy sighs, and military tradition.

The juxtaposition jarred in every service Hunt had ever attended.

The base church’s main doors stood open, their rich-stained wood glowing in the sunlight.

Every detail of the medium-size chapel’s interior would be meticulously polished, shined, and decorated to precise requirements from the lighted white candles and flowers in remembrance to the flags in recognition of the sacrifice.

Baxter’s uniform SEAL picture would sit in enlarged glory on an easel beside the casket. Tragic. Alone.

This was not the first team funeral for this church and wouldn’t be the last. The degree of honorable, horrible loss never changed.

Hunt hadn’t spoken more than five words since rising this morning, and he exited Cait’s car still silent.

She didn’t question using her car and driving.

She let him be. She seemed to understand the words wouldn’t come.

His internal turmoil spread until he couldn’t breathe, let alone talk or let out all the gut-wrenching guilt and grief.

Whether he would scream or sob, he couldn’t tell. He did neither.

Adjusting his uniform, he fingered the trident in his pocket and tried to figure how many times he’d performed this ritual. How many men lost? The answer eluded him. He had to join the team waiting at the doors. They’d be looking to him to lead, hold them together. Honestly, could he?

Cait turned off the SUV and joined him. Usually, he would have been right by her door, helping her out.

Fail there, too. She wore a simple navy sheath that matched his formal uniform with no jewelry except pearl earrings, her wedding ring, and plain navy heels.

She’d rolled her hair and pinned it at the nape of her neck. She was beautiful, and thankfully his.

The hearse brought Baxter, and the limousine carried Bess Baxter, Robert’s aunt and uncle, and Elizabeth Greer. The procession slowly moved down the quiet street a block away. Captain David Lueks, Commander James Gregg, and Lieutenant Jack Brennan were with the base chaplain at the door.

Mackey, Quaid, and Harrison stood off to the side. Dark suits all of them, and none were talking.

He had to cross the street now and pretend he knew what he was going to say and do.

Carter and Doogie were giving eulogies, thank God.

He couldn’t and hated himself for it. Had losing other teammates been this heavy?

He closed his eyes, drowning. The casket and family would be here in moments, and he had to get across the parking lot.

Cait took his free hand and squeezed. “Breathe. One step at a time.”

She lightly tugged on his hand, and he followed her. She pulled him close with a shift of her elbow, never letting go of him. He leaned ever so slightly on her strength.

Doogie and Hernandez were in position to meet the hearse and the family. He reached Doogie’s side and squeezed Cait’s hand. He let her go. She nodded to acknowledge Tommy and K-Rock and moved away. She greeted command members at the door, entered the church, and disappeared.

His gut rolled, stopping him cold. Power through, boy. Why the hell had his father’s voice flooded him now?

“You okay, LC?” Doogie’s voice brought him back.

“Are any of us okay?” He glanced at his friends. Pristine uniforms matched, and the internal wounds didn’t show.

“No, we are not.” Hernandez’s face stayed blank as a slab of stone.

Doogie shifted to check the progress of the hearse. “Damn straight.”

Hunt signaled the other team members to come forward. Jack Brennan ditched the commanders and crossed to them.

Each funeral was different. Baxter’s mother had asked the primary team to accompany the casket, and she wished to walk in with Hunt.

He couldn’t tell her no, wouldn’t have. Carter had been with the body since the death and wouldn’t relinquish his spot until the first shovel of dirt fell on the casket at the cemetery.

After the initial shock, Bess Baxter had stood tall and thought clearly about what she wanted and what would honor Baxter’s service. They’d jumped to comply.

“Everybody’s here, LC.” Hernandez confirmed what his eyes told him. No excuses except for outside the wire teams and those injured.

The hearse pulled to a stop.

The windows were shiny and bright and showed Baxter’s coffin inside, draped with a U.S. flag and adorned in deep red roses and white lilies.

He’d had trouble letting go of the body when the helicopter landed. Was it a comfort to know Bax’s body was in the casket? He’d never, in all his funerals, asked that question.

Carter stepped from the passenger side. His uniform crisp and creased, his hair trimmed, and his face grim.

Hunt let Hernandez and Doogie manage the hearse and went to Carter. “Are you handling this?”

“Yes, LC. I have this.” Blank eyes, but honest commitment in his tone.

Hunt stepped back, accepting the statement as the truth.

Commander Gregg came to his side. Hunt looked past him for Lueks.

“He went inside.” Gregg’s icy tone gave away his mood.

“Thank you. I can’t handle much rank today.”

Gregg growled, then snagged a quick breath. “Who can?”

“The next command level.”

Gregg snorted. “Two pod SEALs. Not enough combat time.”

Hunt agreed but stayed silent, catching Jack’s agreement in the smirk on his face.

“This wasn’t your fault, Hunt.”

He’d avoided this conversation with Gregg because he didn’t have a response. Command Review Staff had questioned every action in debrief. It all felt like his fault. “Discussion for another day, sir.”

“Agreed. See you inside.”

Hunt returned to silence. It was working for him.

The limousine pulled in behind the hearse.

The Navy liaison, a master chief, stepped from the passenger front and opened the back door. Usually, Hunt left this to the enlisted. K-Rock and Tommy moved in that direction.

But Bess Baxter had been in his home. She’d donated a green table and chairs to their first apartment, and he still had the set in his workroom. Sometimes connections meant more than rank.

Bess exited the car, and her dull blue eyes went to the hearse first, then shifted to Hunt.

Regal in black, the slender woman straightened her shoulders and took K-Rock’s arm.

Tommy stayed behind to guide his aunt and uncle.

Elizabeth, her face pale, slipped away from the group and met Quaid near the door.

Hunt moved forward to greet Bess, searching for composure. Still at a loss, he followed an example he’d seen from Cait. Use their name and offer a healing statement.

“Mrs. Baxter,” he got that far and choked up. She took his hand. He gently held her fingers like the lifeline they were.

“Lieutenant Commander. My Robert had many good things to say about you. He deeply respected you.”

“I respected him. He’ll be missed.” It was all he could get out, and the organ had started playing in the church. People were passing the group, nodding to Bess, and filling the church. It was almost time.

The funeral home operated smoothly in the background to put the casket on the mover.

Hernandez, Doogie, Jack, Carter, K-Rock, and Tommy took their places at its side to guide it into the church.

Hunt offered his arm to Bess. The Navy Liaison guided his aunt and uncle.

There would be an honor guard at the cemetery, but here Bess had wanted Robert’s team at his side in the church.

They went slow and steady, their muffled footsteps never breaking cadence.

There could have been a classic funeral dirge playing from the organ. The Navy had a few. But the music stopped as soon as the casket entered. Bess had wanted the church silent, as if a treasured soul entered here.

The military tradition showed strong. He knew his men had practiced, and they executed perfectly.

Hunt helped Bess into the front row then eased into the seat behind her.

Cait reached for his hand, and he gladly took it.

He needed her anchor. Adele Dugan was in the seat next to Cait.

Patsy Brennan was beside Adele. Family members from their team were scattered in the first few rows, and the men found their way to their respective seats. Carter slipped into the row behind him.

The chaplain was an old hand. The sermon honored Robert’s life and service and offered comfort. Hunt had heard variations of this theme before and found no comfort there.

Bess had picked one song, Amazing Grace , and the organist got the notes and emotion of the song just right. Not being a church goer, he would always associate the song with funerals.

Carter chose humor for his tribute to Bax, and he hit every highlight without waver. The man was going to collapse in grief at some point. They all would.

Doogie hadn’t discussed his comments with Hunt, which was unusual. Hunt had been struggling, though, and Doogie knew it. The eulogy started with BUD/S and ended with brotherhood. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

The chaplain offered a prayer. Hunt mouthed amen with everyone else even though he hadn’t heard a word.

A funeral attendant removed the casket flowers to a side table.

Carter and the Navy Liaison stood and positioned themselves in the front.

The two proceeded to lift the flag from the mahogany casket and fold it.

Carter, of course, had been the one to put a flag over Baxter on the helicopter back to base.

His fingers trembled, but Hunt recognized the grit of his expression. He’d succeed at this too, no question.

Carter handed the folded flag to Commander Gregg. With care and attention, the man stepped to Bess and offered the tribute.