Read Online Tom Clancy's Act of Valor by Dick Couch, George Galdorisi - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Dick Couch, George Galdorisi
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Coronado Livery, the oldest cab company on Coronado, to call for him at the street entrance to their condo building. For him, the leaving was in the details, and he busied himself with them. Roark Engel faced a common special-operator’s dilemma. His professional calling was that of a combat team leader in combat rotation. He loved his wife dearly, yet his calling demanded that he leave her for long periods of time. So he immersed himself in the details.
For Jackie Engel, the last days were measured in the degrees of seriousness that began to overtake her husband as the time for deployment drew closer. She knew he held it off as best as he could, but as the time to leave approached, he took on responsibility like the layers of clothing one puts on to go out into a cold night. She could almost see him bend under the weight of it. She knew it was a double burden. He was bending under the weight of the responsibility of taking care of his men
and
of leaving her and their unborn child. She also knew that once he was gone and could focus only on the men and the mission, he would do fine. Jackie Engel didn’t resent this; she understood and accepted it. More than that, a part of her welcomed it. She knew that his total attention to his duties was the best insurance she had that he would come home to her intact.
The day before, he and Jackie had gone over everything that needed to be in place before he left. This morning he wanted to think about nothing; he wanted to make their parting as gentle and painless as it could be. Mechanically, he showered, shaved, dressed, and got ready for the day just like any other. They shared a simple breakfast and tried to be cheerful. These little practiced routines helped him fight through the emotional strain of leaving his wife. So they went through the routines together. They talked about their next breakfast together, and future breakfasts with a high chair between them.
His operational gear, uniforms, files, computer, and the few civilian clothes he would take were long since packed and staged for the deployment. The only thing he put in his bag the night before leaving was always the flag. His flag had adorned the coffin of his grandfather, who was killed in action in World War II. His grandfather on his father’s side had piloted a B-24 during the Ploesti raids. On his final mission, he kept the dying Liberator in the air until the rest of the crew had bailed out. Then he rode the stricken aircraft to a fiery grave. There was no question: Warrior blood coursed through Roark Engel’s veins. Roark always took the flag with him on deployment; he said it kept him safe—that the spirits of the warriors in his family would protect him while he was in harm’s way. The day before, the flag had been over the mantel in a small rectangular shadow box. The next morning, it was gone, spirited quietly into the canvas document case that contained his orders and deployment authorizations.
Then it was time. He was dressed the same as he was every morning—camouflage uniform, rough-out desert boots, and utility cap. For Roark and Jackie, their established point of departure was the front door of their little condo. He would go out the door, and she would remain behind.
“Got the flag?” she asked, C /p> just as she had on previous deployments.
“Got the flag,” he responded. Then came the litany of advice and cautions that she knew was coming and for which she loved him.
“Now, promise me you’ll stay away from your sister Carol. I know it’s only secondary smoke and she sits by the fireplace, but its still bad news.”
“And stay away from processed food,” she said, mimicking him, “and deli meats and diet anything.”
He smiled affectionately and added, “And sushi and ice cream and alcohol,” even though neither had touched a drop, save for his Bushmills at Danny’s, since they learned she was pregnant. She pulled him close and rubbed his closely cropped head. “It’ll be
For Jackie Engel, the last days were measured in the degrees of seriousness that began to overtake her husband as the time for deployment drew closer. She knew he held it off as best as he could, but as the time to leave approached, he took on responsibility like the layers of clothing one puts on to go out into a cold night. She could almost see him bend under the weight of it. She knew it was a double burden. He was bending under the weight of the responsibility of taking care of his men
and
of leaving her and their unborn child. She also knew that once he was gone and could focus only on the men and the mission, he would do fine. Jackie Engel didn’t resent this; she understood and accepted it. More than that, a part of her welcomed it. She knew that his total attention to his duties was the best insurance she had that he would come home to her intact.
The day before, he and Jackie had gone over everything that needed to be in place before he left. This morning he wanted to think about nothing; he wanted to make their parting as gentle and painless as it could be. Mechanically, he showered, shaved, dressed, and got ready for the day just like any other. They shared a simple breakfast and tried to be cheerful. These little practiced routines helped him fight through the emotional strain of leaving his wife. So they went through the routines together. They talked about their next breakfast together, and future breakfasts with a high chair between them.
His operational gear, uniforms, files, computer, and the few civilian clothes he would take were long since packed and staged for the deployment. The only thing he put in his bag the night before leaving was always the flag. His flag had adorned the coffin of his grandfather, who was killed in action in World War II. His grandfather on his father’s side had piloted a B-24 during the Ploesti raids. On his final mission, he kept the dying Liberator in the air until the rest of the crew had bailed out. Then he rode the stricken aircraft to a fiery grave. There was no question: Warrior blood coursed through Roark Engel’s veins. Roark always took the flag with him on deployment; he said it kept him safe—that the spirits of the warriors in his family would protect him while he was in harm’s way. The day before, the flag had been over the mantel in a small rectangular shadow box. The next morning, it was gone, spirited quietly into the canvas document case that contained his orders and deployment authorizations.
Then it was time. He was dressed the same as he was every morning—camouflage uniform, rough-out desert boots, and utility cap. For Roark and Jackie, their established point of departure was the front door of their little condo. He would go out the door, and she would remain behind.
“Got the flag?” she asked, C /p> just as she had on previous deployments.
“Got the flag,” he responded. Then came the litany of advice and cautions that she knew was coming and for which she loved him.
“Now, promise me you’ll stay away from your sister Carol. I know it’s only secondary smoke and she sits by the fireplace, but its still bad news.”
“And stay away from processed food,” she said, mimicking him, “and deli meats and diet anything.”
He smiled affectionately and added, “And sushi and ice cream and alcohol,” even though neither had touched a drop, save for his Bushmills at Danny’s, since they learned she was pregnant. She pulled him close and rubbed his closely cropped head. “It’ll be
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