Three years ago, she had vanished into another world. Now she carried two worlds with her, Lakota and the one that had sheltered her, braided into her spine.
She walked forward and didn’t look back.
Naval Amphibious Base Coronado, BUD/S Training Beach, Coronado, California
Bear stood on the training beach, the same sand where his own bones had been forged, watching the older generation gather. Ruckus. Kid Chaos. Cowboy. Tank. The men who had built SEAL Team Alpha into legend.
This wasn’t just a ceremony. This was legacy. A passing of the old guard. A reminder that he and his brothers were now the ones standing between two eras.
And someday, the kids he was training now, Fly, Than, Shamrock, Indigo, would stand where he stood. Carrying everything forward. Carrying the Teams forward.
He drew a slow breath and stepped into the circle. Ruckus was about to take a star. It felt right to witness it. It felt right to honor where all of this began.
The Pacific rolled in slow breaths against the shore, a deep steady rhythm that sounded like the pulse of every man who had ever trained here. The sky stretched wide over Coronado, soft with evening light, and the sand beneath Bowie “Ruckus” Cooper’s boots felt the same as it had the first day he stood here as a young candidate. Raw. Hungry. Trying to prove something that no one but him could see.
Now he stood on the same beach with a star waiting to be pinned to his collar and generations of Alpha gathered around him. No auditorium. No stage. No rows of stiff chairs. Just the ocean, the sand, and the men who had walked beside him through decades of war.
Someone had driven a few posts into the sand to hold the banners. A table stood nearby with the insignia and paperwork. But the beach swallowed all attempts at formality. The wind tugged at uniforms. The surf threw silver light across their boots, the echoes of men fighting themselves or a coveted place within the Teams.
This place refused stiffness. This place remembered them, and they remembered it.
Ruckus scanned the faces and felt his throat tighten.
Team former teammates stood closest. Kid Chaos with that familiar devilborn grin. Cowboy with his arms crossed, steady as a rock. Tank standing like a fortress. Blue beside him, hands folded, eyes bright. Scarecrow with that lazy Southern smirk. Wicked grounded and lethal. Hollywood looking like sin and righteousness in the same breath.
Behind them stood more brothers. Dragon, Pitbull, Hemingway, Mad Max, Dodger, 2-Stroke, Saint. Men who came through fire and never once failed to carry each other.
Then even more. Professor. Joker. Gator. Blitz. D-Day. Buck. Zorro. Bear. Men who would embody Alpha’s fierce spirit.
They weren’t arranged by teams. They stood mixed together in a broad semicircle, shoulder to shoulder, as if the years had collapsed into a single moment.
Ruckus felt every one of them in his chest.
Someone announced his promotion. A small thing. A breath. A formality. Cowboy stepped forward to pin the star, his hands steady. Kid stood beside him because of course he did, smirking like this was all his idea.
When the star settled onto his collar, the breeze shifted and the surf rolled in a little higher, touching the edge of Ruckus’s boot.
It felt like a benediction.
He stepped forward, the sand soft beneath his feet, and looked at the men who had shaped him, SEAL legacy, grit and never quit attitude. He had never been a sentimental bastard, but the ocean had a way of carving you open whether you wanted it to or not.
He drew a slow breath. “I don’t have a long speech,” he said, the wind carrying his voice across the surf. “Never did care for them.”
A rumble of quiet laughter rolled from the men.
“I’ve served with legends. With hellraisers. With saints and sinners. I have served with men who would drag each other from the bottom of hell then argue about who had the worse day.”
The laughter deepened, warm and familiar.
“I’ve served with batshit crazy Kid Chaos, who once showed up to a mission with donkeys for transportation.” Laughter rippled through the room, warm and familiar. Ruckus smiled once. “I’ve served with Cowboy, whose leadership kept me alive more times than I deserved. With Tank, who calmed war dogs with the same gentle hands he used to break down doors. With Blue, who clawed his way back from the brink and became a Navy doctor. With Scarecrow, elevating combat into a new art. With Wicked, the quiet storm we all relied on. With Hollywood, who stopped being a playboy the day Willow leveled him and turned him into one of our finest officers.”
Hollywood slipped his arm around his wife.
“I served with lieutenants who shaped their own squads. Fast Lane and Joker. Two men who demanded excellence and got loyalty in return. I served beside medics who saved our lives, dog handlers whose partners gave theirs for us, breachers who opened the worst doors, snipers who watched over us, comms guys who kept us connected, and heavy weapons guys who pulled us through hell.”
His voice dropped.
“I served with the fallen. They are here with me. Always.”
