Page 3 of Hot & Heavy

"Absolutely," Pretty Boy replied with a straight face. "In fact, sex is one of the safest sports around. It stretches and tones just about every muscle in the body."

Geek looked transfixed with that bit of information, while Pretty Boy and Cage just grinned. Geek would probably be adding it to his computer tonight in a file marked Sex Secrets of Navy SEALs.

Unbelievable! One time Pretty Boy, under the influence of too much beer, had been pontificating on the G-Spot, and Geek actually thought it was a local bar. Unbelievable!

Amazed at the gullibility of some people, Ian offered, "Maybe the Navy ought to eliminate the O-course and just prescribe sex for all the SEAL trainees."

"There's a thought," Pretty Boy said. "Skip the obstacle course and instead provide lots of sex for Navy SEALs. Hopefully kinky… to get out the kinks, dontcha know." Then, turning to Geek, he added, "Maybe you should suggest that in a letter to the XO."

Deciding to give Geek a break, Ian quickly said, "Don't you dare."

The other members of the squad started to drift in then, some of them carrying styrofoam cups of steaming coffee, some looking as if they were hung over, and a few like JAM, Jacob Alvarez Mendozo, a former Jesuit priest, who had probably just come from confession. But most of them, even JAM, had probably had their ashes hauled, good and proper, last night… or through the night, if they were lucky.

For many of them, it was a pre-deployment ritual.

What a scruffy-looking bunch they were! Mostly unshaven. But all of them, himself included, were as physically fit as any man could be. They wore T-shirts, shorts and heavy combat boots. After their final planning session this morning, they would join the SEAL trainees for a ten-mile jog, run the O-course, and do a few rotations of terrorist training over at the Kill House. Having graduated to the teams, or serving on multiple ops, didn't preclude a SEAL from continuing his physical training. In fact, it was required.

A few years back the Navy had relaxed the requirement that SEALs sport the usual "high and tight"

military haircuts and that they wear standard uniforms so they could blend in with the indigenous people of foreign countries when they engaged in covert operations. As a result, they usually had long hair… at least over the ears. In addition, he and Pretty Boy… and now Geek, too… often had to dye their hair and eyebrows black. He had reddish-brown hair, Pretty Boy blond and Geek red, which would stand out like neon signs in some places. Some even went farther than that, like JAM, whose black hair was pulled back into a ponytail.

Then there was Ensign Omar Jones. Half Muslim, half Native American, he could pass for an Arab, an Italian, a Hispanic, a Greek or an authentic Indian chief, all of which he had done on numerous occasions.

He was an invaluable member of the team, especially for his Arab-language fluency. His hair, too, was pulled into a pony tail. While the others looked as if they'd been up all night, Omar, a linguist and former college professor, was bright-eyed. At thirty-two, Omar shared Ian's lack of appetite for the SEAL

groupies. Omar had probably stayed home with his five-year-old daughter, the product of a failed marriage.

"What's with the black eye?" Omar asked Pretty Boy.

Pretty Boy blushed, which was a rare occurrence, and said nothing, which also was a rare occurrence.

Cage spoke for him. "We were at the Wet and Wild last night, and hot-shot Floyd here went up to this Berkeley babe who was wearin' a NOW T-shirt, which shoulda given him a clue." He grinned at Pretty Boy, who gave him the finger, before resuming his tale. "Anyhow, Hot Shot says to her, 'So, you're a feminist, huh?' And she says, 'Yeah, what of it?' And Dumbo here, bless his heart, says, 'Did you hear the joke about the feminist and the Navy SEAL?' After which, she belted him. Did I mention she was built like Queen Latifah?"

Pretty Boy reached over to swat Cage, but he ducked. "It was no worse than your sorry line to that waitress." In an exaggerated Southern drawl, Pretty Boy mimicked Cage, saying, "Honest, darlin', I really am an angel. Those itty-bitty horns on my head are there just to hold my halo on."

"Know what I think?" Cage said, also red-faced now.

"Here's a news flash, buddy. I don't give a pig's ass what you think," Pretty Boy replied and turned his back on his squad mates to talk with Sylvester "Sly" Sims who had just walked up to them. The chief petty officer was a tall, slim black dude from Manhattan who used to model men's underwear for Esquire magazine. You'd think he would be considered a girly guy for that modeling gig, but no way!

Sly, who'd grown up on the streets of the Big Apple, had joined the SEALs because of his hatred for terrorists. His brother had been one of the many killed on 9/11 in the Twin Towers. Sly was their munitions expert.

The last one to straggle in was Luke Avenil, better known as Slick. An odd bird, Slick was quiet and kept to himself. He was a man with secrets, but a helluva SEAL. Slick had a knack for breaking and entering, a skill presumably learned as a teenager in one juvie hall or other.

Ian went to the podium to get their attention. Once the men were seated and quieted down, Ian asked,

"We'll be wheels up at oh-five-hundred tomorrow. Are you men good to go?"

"Hoo-yah!" they all yelled out.

Ian pulled down the map over the blackboard behind him and said, "Let's go over this terrain one more time. First, where we do the HALO drop, then the pickup location."

A communal groan resounded through the room. They'd gone over this map of Iraq a hundred times already. Hell, some of them probably had latitude marks on their eyeballs.

"Iraq is a triangle of mountains, desert and fertile river valley, bounded on the east by Iran, on the north by Turkey, on the west by Syria and Jordan and on the south by Saudi Arabia and Kuwait. It's the mountainous area we'll be hitting."

"Repeat how far the LZ is from the target." Omar was taking notes on a small pad.

"The landing zone is about five miles from Jamal's enclave."