Rogenna Brewer - The SEAL's Baby

One panic attack while upside down in the Dilbert Dunker, and she’d become infamous for those tiny little oxygen bubbles that rose to the surface when she hadn’t. Worse than almost drowning, worse than Navy swimmers having to rescue her from the simulated cockpit, was having to do it all over again or wash out of the program.

She’d made it out of the harness and to the surface on her second go-round and every time since when she updated her quals. But not without that feeling of utter panic.

That dunk tank was easy compared to this.

She took a last deep breath before taking her next career plunge.

Assuming command was very much like a marriage. It required commitment and, in this case, compromise. The only thing missing was her bouquet. And, of course, there was no groom caught in the crosshairs of her sights.

And no father of the bride at her side.

Hannah stepped onto the white carpet. Alone.

So much for embarrassing missteps. She’d now committed a major faux pas. With deliberate pride.

Pride goeth before the fall. So you damn well better not trip all over it, Stanton.

A pair of side boys, the appropriate honors for a lieutenant commander, stood at attention. On the Executive Officer’s command they rendered sharp hand salutes. Two gongs sounded. Then the XO, as Master of Ceremonies, announced her arrival.

The handbook said single ladies were to be escorted, but single female officers fell into a gray area. Because nowhere in that book did it say single male officers had to be escorted down the aisle.

First impressions were important. In marriage as in life, one should start out as one intended to go along. For Hannah that meant going without leaning on any man.

One last gong followed her march through the white-topped VIP tent. Despite her bravado, she missed her father more than she had since that day two Naval officers had shown up at their door. She would have liked to hear him say he was proud of her today.

Climbing the steps to the red-white-and-blue-swagged dais, she reached her seat to the left of Captain Loring. Admiral Riker, the highest-ranking official taking part in the ceremony, sat to Loring’s right. The chaplain sat to her left and the XO stood at a podium to the far right. The podium in the center remained open for their use.

“All rise for the national anthem,” the XO requested.

As she rendered honors to the flag, Hannah got her first good look at the assembled crowd. The squadron stood by in formation. The guests got to their feet from uniform rows of folding chairs. Except for a white rose, the first chair to the left of the aisle remained empty, in memory of Captain Loring’s deceased wife. The second chair held the folded triangle that had adorned the casket of Hannah’s father. Her mother, Rosemary Stanton, pressed a kiss to the bud she held and placed it on the flag beside her before covering her heart with her hand.

After that, everything became a blur set to band music as Hannah blinked back tears. Sometimes sacrifices were made on the battlefield. But just as often they were made on the home front.

Her younger sister Sammy, bouncing baby in her arms, stood beside their mother. The three-month-old needing all the attention was Hannah’s own precious daughter.

Fortunately her mother and sister were willing to go above and beyond the call of duty. If Sammy hadn’t been able to move to California, Hannah as a single mom would have been forced to leave her daughter behind with her family in Colorado.

Adventure aside, the United States Navy was a job 24/7.

She had to be deployable.

No excuses. Not even little ones. Like wanting to spend time with her baby girl.

Or big ones. Like wanting to keep her daughter from knowing the pain of losing a parent.

“The Star Spangled Banner” ended, and the XO requested everyone remain standing for the Chaplain’s invocation.

Hannah mouthed the words thank you to her mother and sister.

She had a two-year obligation to Uncle Sam and the two hundred men and women of HCS-9. In answering the call to duty she’d given up more than family time and social ties, more than a mid-six-figure salary in the aerospace industry and a plot of real estate in the Rocky Mountains. She’d given up her peace of mind. Because sooner or later she’d run into McCaffrey and out of excuses.

When she did, she’d need her family more than ever.

They’d been there for her when he hadn’t.

Seated once again, her gaze shifted to the audience. She tried hard not to make the comparison between the empty chair reserved for her father and the empty chair among the SEAL commanders. McCaffrey wasn’t here, but he’d been safe and sound when the Fire Hawks of HCS-5 picked him up from San Clemente Island. And as long as he stayed away so was their daughter.

The baby slept through most of the speeches, but woke fussy. Already showing signs of independence, like her mother, a chubby fist found its way to a rosebud mouth in the time it took Auntie Sammy to dig through the diaper bag for a bottle. Hannah somehow managed to maintain her military bearing even as every maternal instinct she possessed made her want to leap from the platform. But her complement of uniforms didn’t include Wonder Woman or Super Mom costumes, just a flight suit and the wings of a Naval Special Warfare Aviator.

Captain Loring stepped center stage, the cue for the participants on the dais to stand once again.

“The Change of Command Ceremony is a Navy tradition without equal in the Army or Air Force,” he began. “Custom has established that this observance be both formal and impressive while at its heart is the reading of official orders.” After a lengthy speech, he got around to doing just that. Afterward he turned to Hannah. “Ma’am, I am ready to be relieved.”

Hannah stepped forward and read her orders. As courtesy demanded of the relieving officer, she kept her comments brief. When finished, she turned to Loring and executed a sharp salute. “I relieve you, sir.”

Captain Loring returned the salute. “I stand relieved.”

The Color Guard marched forward. Loring ordered his command pennant lowered, followed by Hannah ordering hers broken, readying it for unfurling. On command, the Color Guard raised her banner. Wind snapped it to attention. Above the command flag for the North Island Night Hawks of HCS-9, the simple white pennant bearing the silver eagle of a captain had been replaced by the silver oak leaf of a lieutenant commander.

Hannah turned to salute her immediate superior in the Chain of Command—Admiral Riker, Commander, Helicopter Wing Reserve. “Lieutenant Commander Hannah C. Stanton reporting for duty, sir.”

WITH ALL THE FORMALITIES OVER, except the receiving line, the squadron had been dismissed to “mill about smartly.” Which meant they were to remain on their toes. The Navy band played an endless stream of John Philip Sousa compositions. Officer and enlisted mingled under the shade of the open hangar bay and the scattered trees near the grassy knoll that separated the blacktop grinder from the paved parking lot. Distinguished military and civilian guests filed out from under the tent to pass through the line.

As protocol demanded, Hannah exchanged more white-gloved salutes and handshakes. To her left stood the departing CO. To her right the XO, because the book said a proper receiving line should not end with a lady, and the lady in question had no hand in the planning of today’s events. Otherwise she would have seen to that detail, as well.

“Congratulations, Commander Stanton.”

“Thank you for coming, Admiral Moore.” The exchange with the Commanding Officer of North Island lasted only as long as their brief hand clasp. Since he was also the Commanding Officer, Naval Base Coronado, Naval Amphibious Base Coronado, Outlying Field Imperial Beach, Navy Radio Receiving Facility, Mountain Training Facility LaPosta, Warner Springs Training Area and Naval Air Landing Facility San Clemente Island, that pretty much made him the most important man present.