Hunt the Falcon by Don Mann, Ralph Pezzullo Read Free Book Online

flinched slightly, then rolled over and kissed him on the lips. “Don’t be sorry,” she whispered. “It’s awful, yes, but it’s the price he knew he might pay.”
    â€œHow are Alyssa and the boys?”
    â€œThey’re grieving and trying to cope. But let’s not talk about that now.”
    He kissed her back, and held her, and they gently made love.
    The next thing he knew it was morning, and Holly was walking toward him through the dappled light carrying a glass of orange juice. She caressed his forehead and informed him that the first guests would be arriving in an hour.
    â€œWhat guests?” Crocker asked, glancing at the clock and seeing that it was almost eleven.
    â€œYour sister and her family. My brother.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œIt’s Thanksgiving, Tom. Jenny and I are making dinner.”
    â€œI didn’t realize.”
    Â Â 
    He carved the turkey, sat at the head of the table and said grace, ate, talked to Jenny about school, and conversed with everyone about everything, including the approaching end of the Mayan calendar, the recent presidential election, Hurricane Sandy, and the resignation of General Petraeus. He even retired with the men and boys to watch the Redskins-Cowboys game on TV.
    He did everything that was expected of him, but he wasn’t completely present. Part of him was still on the mountain in Nuristan Province, fighting the enemy, making split-second decisions, arguing with Captain Battier about the need to reinforce Station C.
    The adjustment from combat to civilian life was always difficult. This time it was especially hard because of the four SEAL teammates who had returned in flag-covered coffins. He carried his memories of them like an extra weight on his shoulders.
    The first three funerals took place the following day in Virginia Beach as a cold rain fell from a cement-colored sky. The chapels and funeral homes were interchangeable and the routine was the same—people dressed in black, bouquets of roses, eulogies, and grieving families. One ran into another. By the end of the day he felt numb, hollowed out. If life had a purpose, he’d forgotten what it was.
    By the time Saturday arrived and he and Holly drove up to Arlington National Cemetery for Neal Stafford’s burial, Crocker thought he was inured to sadness. But when Alyssa spoke about her husband as a soul mate, lover, and companion, not sparing the intimate details of their life together as a married couple—including the way Neal liked to tease her and call her his bunny when they made love—Crocker broke down and wept.
    Holly squeezed his hand. He looked at her and saw that she was thinking it could have been him.
    Life was tough and precious. It contained unbelievably beautiful, gentle moments, and hard, ugly, difficult ones. Then it ended. The bodies piled up, and the struggles continued. Love and friendship made life worth living.
    Crocker considered himself part of a proud tradition of warriors—including his grandfather, uncle, and father—dedicated to defending people’s freedom, which to his mind was an unalienable right. The enemies might have changed over the years—from fascists, to communists, to Muslim radicals—but their goals were the same: to subject people to a monolithic set of rules and beliefs.
    As long as he was alive, he would fight to the death to defend what he believed. To his mind it was almost a spiritual quest.
    Crocker didn’t pretend to be a philosopher or an intellectual, and he didn’t belong to a church or political party, but he believed that the principle of self-determination was critical to human progress and survival. People had to make their own decisions and their own mistakes if they were going to learn and evolve—which to Crocker’s way of thinking is what we have been put on this earth to do.
    Â Â 
    By the time Monday morning rolled around, he still wasn’t