Chapter 14-15 - The Rookie: Former Seal

Chapter 14 – Men at Sea, Shadows in the Sand

September 28, 2015 – 4:42 PM

Mid-Wilshire Police Station – Officers' Rest Room

Afternoon fell like a heavy veil over the city, the sky shifting between gold and burnt orange. Inside the station, the break room reeked of the usual aroma of stale coffee and morning-shift donuts that no one dared throw away. The TV was off, and in the background, only the muffled sound of voices on the radio and the faint hum of the ceiling fan, which insistently rotated, albeit without much effect, could be heard.

Seated in a semicircle around the central table were Captain Zoe Anderson, Sergeant Wade Grey, Tim Bradford, Talia Bishop, Angela Lopez, and Derek Davis. It was one of those rare moments when the shift allowed one to sit down and breathe. And, as was always the case lately, the conversation often revolved around Derek.

More specifically, from his past, which seemed to have come straight out of classified Department of Defense pages.

Angela, still fiddling with the thermos cap, blurted out:

"Okay, Davis... you were on the Bin Laden mission, the Marcus Luttrell rescue... you met Chris Kyle..." She glanced at him sideways. "Now I want to know: what about Captain Phillips's mission?"

Bradford's eyes widened.

Talia set the tea mug down slowly.

Grey just shook his head, as if he'd already expected this to come.

Derek crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. He smiled. Not that posed smile. A smile full of irony and memory.

"Yes. I was on that one too."

Zoe raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Operation Neptune Spear, Operation Red Wings... and now the Operation to rescue Richard Phillips. Do you have a bingo card for legendary operations?"

"I was just in the right place. Or the wrong place, depending on your perspective," he replied lightly.

Angela leaned forward, visibly intrigued.

"Okay, tell me. How was it? I've always wondered how it worked behind the scenes."

Derek looked around. He saw the attentive, curious faces. He took a deep breath and began:

"It was 2009. I was still in Red Squadron, but that week, we were at Quantico, training the FBI HRT the Hostage Rescue Team. Advanced CQB instruction, dynamic entry, work with controlled explosives. All routine."

Bradford laughed.

"Sure. Because training with the HRT is kind of normal, right?"

"For us, it was. But then, on the second day of training, we got a call from command. Direct. Without much explanation. 'Return to base immediately. Full gear. Real mission.'"

Talia frowned.

"And you knew what it was about?"

"Not at first. We thought it was a hostage rescue in the Middle East. It wasn't until we were on the plane, en route to a naval base on the coast, that an operations officer explained it to us. An American freighter had been hijacked by Somali pirates. And the captain was in their hands, in a lifeboat, in the middle of the Indian Ocean."

Grey, who rarely commented, murmured:

"You parachuted into the open ocean?"

"Yes. The plan was quick. We grabbed our gear, boarded a C-130 adapted for HALO jumps. Full gear, sealed weapons, sea suits. The jump was at night. And then... we dropped into the sea, inflated Zodiac boats, and rowed until a Navy ship approached—the USS Bainbridge."

Zoe seemed surprised, even with her military background in tactical knowledge.

"You arrived by sea, in the dark, rowing?"

"And without making a sound," Derek added. "The priority was not to alert the pirates. They were armed, nervous, and the captain had been on the boat for days. Tensions were at an all-time high."

Angela was completely engrossed.

"And what did you do? Get on the boat?"

Derek shook his head.

"No. The boat was too small for a direct assault. There were too many risks. The operation was based on negotiation, psychological pressure... and snipers."

Talia whispered:

"The snipers."

Derek nodded.

"Three snipers from SEAL Team VI. They positioned themselves on the deck of the Bainbridge. Long range. Sea movement. Moving target. And... perfect timing. Three shots. Three pirates dead."

Bradford spoke, almost in awe:

"That was one of the cleanest executions ever documented."

"Yes. And for that very reason, my role was small. I and the other operators were prepared for contingency. If something went wrong, if the boat started moving, if they tried to jump overboard with the captain... our role was to intercept."

Angela smiled, crossing her arms.

"Modest. You basically jumped into the middle of the ocean and kept a close eye on the mission, ready to join the chaos. But you think you 'didn't do much.'"

Derek shrugged. "Compared to what the snipers did, I just paddled and sweated with a rifle on my lap."

Talia laughed. "And here I thought my 12-hour shift was tough."

Zoe leaned in, curious.

"That mission was well documented. Some footage was leaked years later."

Derek nodded with a small smile. "There's even a picture of me on Reddit."

"Really?" Angela said, her eyes widening.

"Yes. A specific image. The team in the boat, with the rescued captain. I'm on the side. My face is blurred, of course. But it's unmistakable to anyone who knows me."

Bradford smiled.

"Are you saying we can find you on Reddit? I need to see that."

Derek got up and went to the computer in the living room. He typed familiarly, accessed the browser, and logged into Reddit.

"Special operations subreddit. There's a post from 2014. Someone recovered images from the mission via FOIA Freedom of Information Act. Most are still censored, but some have passed. Here."

He clicked. The image appeared: an inflatable boat approaching the ship. Armed men in dark uniforms. One of them, in the right corner of the image, held an HK416 with an optical sight. His face was digitally blurred, but his posture, his bearing... everything matched Derek.

"It's me," he said dryly.

Zoe crossed her arms and stared at the screen for a long moment.

"Unbelievable. We're looking at a photo of a historic mission, and one of the operators is here in our break room."

Angela turned to him.

"Do you realize the scale of all this? Your trajectory?"

Derek looked at her, with that calm gaze everyone already recognized as his.

"I do. But size doesn't mean value. What matters is the impact we leave." Whether it's an operation 10,000 miles away... or responding to a disturbance call in South LA."

Grey nodded.

"You don't think you're bigger because of that. And that's exactly why you are."

6:11 PM – Police Station Yard

The sun was already dipping below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the cars. Angela and Derek were leaning against the side of the police car. The breeze was light, and the day, despite the heat, was ending peacefully.

"You know, Davis..." she said. "Every time you tell one of those stories, it feels like they don't belong to you. Like you're talking about someone else."

"Maybe they do," he replied, staring up at the sky. "That guy in the boats, in the mountains... he did what he had to do. But I'm a different person now. I still carry all that. But I'm not defined by it."

Angela nodded.

"Still, it's part of who you are." And even if you never write a book... you're teaching us all. With every step you take here."

Derek smiled. This time, without weight.

"Then maybe this is my new mission."

"And this, my dear, you're fulfilling better than you imagine."

And there, between blurred memories and a new routine built with dignity, Derek Davis continued making history no longer with rifles and night jumps, but with integrity, humility, and a presence that transformed everything around him.

Chapter 15 – Echoes of Benghazi

September 29, 2015 – 3:56 PM

Mid-Wilshire Police Station – Reporting Room

The station's reporting room was quiet. Late afternoon light filtered through the partially closed blinds, casting golden streaks across the floor. The sound of the printer was the only background noise, aside from the occasional voices on the radio.

Angela Lopez and Derek Davis sat side by side at two terminals, finalizing the day's incident reports. They had just come off a long, uneventful patrol, but filled with smaller calls—suspect checks, domestic disputes, and support for a medical escort.

Angela stared at the screen, but her mind was elsewhere. For a few days now, her conversations with Derek had deepened. They were no longer just about tactics, or the daily grind of the street. She found herself wanting to know more. Not out of idle curiosity, but because she understood there was something in his silence that held more than memories—there was history.

She finished typing, saved the file, and then turned to him.

"Have you seen the movie 13 Hours, Derek?"

He didn't answer right away. He continued typing, finishing the sentence in the report. Then he saved, clicked to close the screen, and turned his chair slightly toward her. His face was calm. But his eyes… changed. A faint veil of remembrance settled there.

"I saw it."

Angela waited. She didn't press. She knew that, with Derek, silence was an invitation to reflection, not discomfort.

"What did you think?"

He crossed his arms, staring at the blank screen before him, as if seeing something far beyond.

"It's an honest film. Not perfect, but close to reality. It captures the tension. The feeling of being alone. And the cost."

Angela was silent for a moment, then said softly,

"You knew someone there, right?"

Derek nodded. The answer came with the gravity of someone carrying more than they could describe.

"I did. Glen 'Bub' Doherty. And Tyrone 'Rone' Woods. And also Jack—Jack Silva, the operator the film follows. All three were part of the GRS on that mission. All ex-SEALs. I served with Glen on a rotation in northern Afghanistan. He was funny, quick. He always had a joke ready, even in the worst situations. Tyrone, I met before, in 2005. A methodical, precise guy. Professional to the core."

Angela held her breath. She vaguely remembered the names when the case exploded in the media. The consulate attacked, the secret base, the operators holding their position against an armed mob. But hearing it now, from the mouth of someone who knew the faces behind the headlines, carried a different weight.

"And Jack?"

— "Jack was new to the GRS when he went to Benghazi. But he had what mattered: a cool head and a heart in the right place. We met once, in a quick exchange of information in Bahrain. I was leaving, he was arriving. A change of direction, so to speak. He reminded me of the kind of man you want by your side when everything falls apart."

Angela leaned back in her chair.

— "I can imagine what it was like hearing about what happened next..."

Derek nodded slowly.

— "It was... painful. Not because of the risk. We all knew what that kind of contract meant. But what hurt was the abandonment. The time they spent waiting for help that never came. Politics blocking what the action required."

Zoe Anderson entered the room at that moment, tablet in hand. She sensed the tone of the conversation and stopped near them.

— "Talking about Benghazi?"

Derek nodded slightly.

Zoe pulled out a chair and sat down, now interested as well.

"I read every internal report after that attack. Bureaucratic inertia killed those men as much as the gunfire. The evacuation request was stuck between departments for hours."

Derek looked at her, his tone firmer now.

"Hours that cost lives. They fought with everything they had. Glen died protecting people. Tyrone was in the firing position until the last second. And Jack... well, Jack survived. But he lost brothers that day. And a piece of him stayed there."

Angela leaned forward.

"The film shows the relationship between them well. The kind of loyalty you don't learn in the process."

"That's because it's not taught," Derek said. "It's built. In mud, in blood, in silence. Those men didn't need to be there. They could have gone on with their civilian lives. But they came back. And they paid the price."

Zoe watched him silently. There was something in her eyes respect, maybe a hint of guilt for never having been in such an extreme situation. And admiration for someone who had lived through it all and yet remained whole.

"You talk as if you're still there," she said.

"Sometimes I am," Derek replied.

Angela looked at him gently.

"You never thought about telling your own story?"

He laughed bitterly.

"Tell it to who? Who will understand without turning it into a spectacle? Or into politics? No. I prefer to keep the truth to myself."

Zoe nodded.

"In the records of the heart."

Derek smirked. It was a poetic answer, and at that moment, acceptable.

Bradford and Talia entered the room soon after, carrying two bags of food. The smell of burgers and fries filled the air.

"Oops, food time," Tim said. "Did we interrupt something?"

"Just a living history lesson," Angela murmured, still thoughtful.

Talia pulled out a chair and gave her a curious look.

"More field stories, Davis? You're going to spoil us."

Derek smiled. He took his portion of fries and sat back down, but now the mood was lighter.

"It depends. Have any of you ever rowed in an inflatable boat out to a hijacked freighter while the sea was spewing six-foot waves?

"No," Bradford said, biting into a bite of burger. "But I once chased a shoplifter who was fleeing with his underwear over his pants."

Laughter echoed through the room. And so, with food, camaraderie, and stories that ranged from the absurd to the epic, the Mid-Wilshire police officers finished another shift.

And Derek, even through his laughter, knew he carried with him names that were no longer alive, but would never cease to live in his memory. Glen. Tyrone. And so many others.

And now, finally, their names were being heard by people who would not forget.

Chapter 9 - Chapter 14-15