'Family'

04-Jul-2030, 1950R

LCDR Percy Jackson, US Navy, Son of Neptune/Poseidon

DEVGRU

Virginia Beach, Virginia, USA

[THERE IS SOME MILD CURSING... ALSO, THIS CHAPTER IS LONG]

"Estelle, you better get down here this instant, young lady!" Dad called, his Southern accent ringing through the house as he fiddled with his key fob. "We're going to be late!"

"Okay, okay! I'll be down in a minute!" Estelle replied from upstairs.

"Teenagers," Dad grumbled as he sat down, removing his baseball cap and running his fingers through his short, white hair. "'One minute,' she says. She said that ten minutes ago!"

I couldn't help but snicker as it reminded me of my time in Camp Half-Blood: it was very rare that anyone (including me, at times) would ever be on time for anything. Not in Camp Jupiter, though, since Romans seem to have a better grasp of punctuality.

"To be fair, Dad, if we leave in five mikes, we'll still be early to the barbecue by a quarter of an hour," I reasoned, my habit of replacing "minutes" with "mikes" slipping through. Dad still has the habit, but it's not as apparent as mine. Frankly, it's a mannerism I don't think either of us will ever lose.

"We'll be on time," he responded, waving his hand dismissively. "Remember: to be early is on time—"

"—to be on time is late," I finished, remembering his lesson on punctuality. "Boy, do I know that one. Besides, she's fifteen, so cut her a little slack. Not much, mind you, but a little. Weren't you ever late to anything as a kid?"

"Nope. My hours were dawn til dusk, and even with a barebones schedule like that, we always had to be there on time. That's farm life in Georgia."

Another thing you may not know about Dad: he grew up on his family farm close to the Georgia-Alabama border, west of the city Bowdon. The Blofises were on the poorer side, but they still lived a happy life. Despite enjoying that life, he craved more, yearning to follow in the footsteps of his grandfather, a US Marine that served on the Pacific Front during World War II, and his father, a Marine that served during the Vietnam War.

Dad enlisted when he was eighteen in 1975, serving four years in the 82nd Airborne Division (1/505).

Once he finished his contract, he transferred to the North Carolina National Guard (specifically, the 29th Infantry Division's 1/120) before utilizing the benefits of the G.I. Bill to earn his bachelor's degree in History whilst in the Guard, during which he minored in Economics.

Dad managed to complete his degree in two years thanks to him testing out of classes and getting into an accelerated program. Wanting to further his Army career, he applied for the 75th Ranger Regiment, working his way through training and eventually getting assigned to the 1st Ranger Battalion. He proceeded to serve as a Ranger for twenty-two years, during which he did just about everything: assaulter, machine gunner, designated marksman/sniper, sniper team leader, platoon sergeant, first sergeant, platoon leader, and company commander.

Yeah, he became an officer really late into his career, apparently wanting to get back to operating with a platoon because he was bored at the company level. Apparently due to this, he was fast-tracked to O-2 upon completing OCS, allowing him to return to the Regiment as a platoon leader.

"Calm down, honey. She's a teenager, and you could afford to go a bit slower," Mom called from the kitchen. "And don't give me another one of your ridiculous jokes."

"Yes, dear," he replied sarcastically, his fingers drumming across his metal-and-plastic right knee.

Oh yeah, Dad has a prosthetic right leg.

In May 2003, he was honorably discharged from the Army after getting his leg blown off by a mortar blast while participating in the rescue of PFC Jessica Lynch during the Iraq War. The blast took a big chunk out of his leg, but his Rangers kept him from bleeding out and managed to CASEVAC him quickly. He ended up an above-the-knee amputee. Looking back, he comments that it was ironic that he survived Takur Ghar only to get knocked out of the fight in Nasiriyah.

Yes, Dad participated in the Battle of Takur Ghar too (one helluva resume, eh?). He was a first lieutenant, serving as the AOIC of Task Force 11's QRF during Operation Anaconda. He was one of the Rangers that escaped death and wounds at Takur Ghar, helping to fight off al-Qaeda fighters and rescue the trapped Advanced Force Operations teams. It was shortly after this battle that he was promoted to captain, and due to a position vacancy, he became the commanding officer of A Company.

I'm fairly certain that I would never have known any of his history if it hadn't been for me stumbling across some old photos of him (literally, I tripped over a carpet and knocked over an old photo album of his, one that he never showed to anyone). However, he trusted me, and only gave me information that was already declassified. Plus, he said that he would likely forget things as time went on, so that one storytelling would be the most information I'd ever hear in one sitting.

Thankfully, partial immortality comes with a practically perfect memory and the ability to quickly learn and memorize, so it wasn't difficult to register the information. Apart from that, he would unintentionally use jargon from the Army and act peculiarly (at least, from a civilian's standpoint) on an occasional basis.

Anyways, Dad losing his right leg resulted in him having to leave the Army ("Only twenty-eight years?" he complained. "I was still an able-bodied man! I wanted to be there with my Rangers!"). He didn't want to retire, but he decided that it would likely be for the best.

His injuries are what actually brought him to New York, as the Department of Veterans' Affairs had arranged his treatment (albeit slowly), but it was in New York rather than his home state of Georgia (for some reason even he doesn't know; the VA works in strange ways). While he was nervous about living in the big city, he believed that the hustle and bustle would be similar enough to the Army that he could better work on transitioning back into civilian life.

In 2004, he found a job at Goode High School, teaching both English and History. While he enjoyed teaching, he ended up mostly despising his job as there were very few decent students or staff. However, he still put in 110% effort, going to writing seminars to learn material that he could utilize to be a better teacher. He even made it a point to incorporate basic civics and economics in his history teachings, with the hopes of better preparing his students to become better citizens. Two years into teaching and night classes, not only did he earn his Master's Degree and return to walking on two legs, he met Mom.

She'd also pushed him to figure out what his true calling was—he certainly found some satisfaction as a teacher, but it wasn't enough—resulting in him rejoining the Army as part of the NY National Guard's Fighting 69th in '07, deploying shortly after marrying Mom and returning in the summer of '09, just in time for the Battle of Manhattan.

And if you think Dad didn't have enough, you were right: not long after the Battle of Manhattan, he put in a packet to apply for Special Forces in 2010, completing his training in 2012 before being reassigned to C Company of the 20th SF Group's 1st Battalion.

Why, you may ask, did Dad decide it was a good idea to go into SF after thirty-one years of service?  Well, I'm to blame for that.  You see, since I enlisted in the Navy, he figured out the best chance he had to deploy with me was to go for SOF. Since he already was somewhat of a warrior poet, he decided to go for SF, and ended up deploying annually—even after he transferred to B Company, 3rd Battalion in 2015 (same group), before retiring in 2020 as a major with forty-one years of service.

Why only a major?  In the paraphrased words of an old buddy of his, he wouldn't promote, he wouldn't retire, and despite all his best efforts, he refused to die.

Forty-one years of service... because he could. And even after that, he kept making decisions that were centered around me: with one being him and Mom moving to Virginia Beach with a special package that was walking down the stairs as I recounted Dad's personal history.

Enter Estelle "Esty" Blofis, my little sister (emphasis on "little"), standing at 5'4" with sea-green eyes, freckles on her cheeks, and dark brown hair in a ponytail. I was twenty-two years old when she came into this world (believe it or not, courtesy of Father, who wanted to make sure Mom and Dad could have a semi-normal life). After she was born, Mom and Dad decided to move to Virginia Beach so that she could grow up with me. The three of us invested in a house, so that we could live together. Plus, I also got to help raise Estelle, which has been another highlight.

She's got a bit of everyone else in our family: Mom's way with words, Dad's intelligence, my loyalty, hell, even Father's wittiness (he visits from time to time as "Uncle Neptune," being my literal god-father and her godfather). However, she didn't inherit Mom's ability to see through the Mist, which Dad actually managed to acquire via adaptation and several interactions with gods and goddesses (i.e., Neptune, Trivia, and Juventas). It's for this reason that she knows nothing about the Greco-Roman mythological world that I am a part of.

Anyways, back to Estelle. She dresses in the standard teenage girl fashion: jeans, t-shirts with rubber bands (I still don't get the point of those), skirts, etc. She even acts like a standard teenage girl, as she loves to talk on her phone, use social media, sass people, and go shopping with friends.

Although, I must say, she does deviate from standard teenage girl mannerisms in a couple of ways. For one, she is not a fan of Starbucks nor Chipotle. She's also excellent with a rifle and while she can't beat neither Dad nor I (not yet, at least), she is a very respectable marksman. Dad and I have trained Mom and Estelle in firearm safety and usage, which makes sense considering that all of us (except Estelle, of course) conceal-carry. We not only wanted them to be able to protect themselves, but also to educate and discipline them in the way of firearms. Believe me folks, education and discipline are the two greatest ways to ensure gun safety.

In other words, Esty would be a great Huntress, except that she'd use a bolt-action or semi-automatic rifle rather than a bow, and she doesn't have the personality of a bratty, egotistical misandrist. I sincerely hope she never joins that damned group and sticks with her dream of being an astronaut (or a "space-girl," as she called it back when she was younger).

"I'm here! I'm here! Y'all need to chill out!" she said as she put on her tennis shoes. "Besides, we'll be early!"

"Better than being 'fashionably late,' otherwise known as the biggest crock of nonsense since the UCP," Dad deadpanned.

"Daddy, it was one time!" Estelle whined.

"Mhmm. If you multiplied one by forty-two, Esty."

"It was not that high and you know it!"

I chuckled at their banter as well as the reminder of the Army's Universal Camouflage Pattern, undoubtedly one of the worst ideas the Department of Defense has ever had. Seriously, that thing is said to be "universal," all while working absolutely nowhere, except for this one couch that Mom used to have in our old apartment.

Speaking of Sally Blofis (nee Jackson), she entered in a simple blue sundress, holding a bag of blue corn chips and a large casserole dish of her famous seven-layer dip for the barbecue (emphasis on "large," as it was a favorite among the boys).

While she is adamant that it's false, Dad and I have always asserted that she aged better than either of us. Dad is seventy-three and looks his age (if not older), thanks to his wrinkles, gray hair and thick, but still clean, beard. I'm thirty-six and look forty-five, thanks to several gray hairs (there are even some in my beard, but I shaved it after going into modified reserve duty). Both of us have rough, worn faces from our time in service (with mine being half-burnt thanks to that IED), which only add to our visual age. My burns aside, we just look like regular men.

Remember, though, when I said not to let his mild-mannered appearance fool you? He usually moves a lot slower these days, choosing to savor life. However, he is still incredibly fit and more than capable of being my workout partner. He can keep up with me and my fellow SEALs when we do PT (physical training) together off-duty, even with his prosthetic leg.

Mom on the other hand is sixty-nine and looks fifty. Her hair is mostly gray with some touches of brown, but it has mostly maintained its length and thickness (because genetics... somehow... if you're confused, you're not alone). While her face has certainly aged and she (like Dad) takes life at a slower pace most of the time, she still smiles so brightly that I'm reminded of her youthful appearance from over twenty years ago, when I was just a kid. After all these years, she's still a ray of sunshine and the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on.

Yeah, I'm bit of a momma's boy. To compensate, though, Estelle is a complete daddy's girl.

"Aw, honey, are you being a grumpy old man to the kids again?" Mom teased as she picked up her purse.

"Yes, dear," Dad replied sarcastically. "A grumpy old man with a hot wife that looks three-quarters his age, a sassy teenaged daughter, and a crazy sailor for a son."

"Crazy?"

"You know how them Navy boys are."

"Crazy ain't the half of it," I admitted with a small laugh, making him nod assent.

"Besides," he said, adjusting his glasses as he looked up at Mom. "I'm thinking Percy and Esty can go to the barbecue themselves. I mean, why would I go for a meal there when I've got you here?"

"Daddy, no!" Estelle exclaimed, annoyed by Dad's flirting. Trust me, considering that I've accidentally walked in on them making out, seeing my parents flirting is pretty mild. It's kind of funny, though, seeing how they still act like love-struck teenagers from time to time.

"Paul!" Mom scolded, albeit with a light blush.

"Oh please, darlin'," he teased with a salacious grin, making my sister clap her hands over her ears.

"Daddy, please stop!" she all but screamed. "Let's just go, already!"

"I hate to interrupt the romance, but she's right," I sniggered, remembering how anxious my sister was to see her friends. "Perhaps save it for when we return home."

"Okay, folks! Let's roll!" Dad declared, standing upright and heading out to our Chevrolet Suburban. He sold the Toyota Prius after moving to Virginia, getting the hoof print dents hammered out of the hood before selling it (the mechanic was puzzled, but thankfully refrained from asking questions).

A quick twenty-minute drive (including several dad jokes and attempts at playful flirting by Dad that Mom seemed to barely deflect), we arrived at our destination: a large beach house near Dam Neck. Evidently, we were one of the last ones to arrive.

We disembarked, walking around to the backyard where the rest of the group was. The yard and the area of beach adjacent to it was packed with activity, filled with men, women, and children. Some were playing games, some were cooking, some were swimming in the ocean, and some were simply conversing. It was another family gathering, just during the Fourth of July.

My eyes locked onto one man that stood away from everyone else, appearing to be focusing on the horizon while in deep thought. Feeling mischievous, I crept closer before grabbing his shoulders and shouting "TEN-HUT!"

Acting on muscle memory, he about-faced faster than a jackrabbit on a hot day in August, standing ramrod at a position of attention. He quickly registered who I was, his face breaking into a grin.

"You crazy son of a bitch!" he laughed, punching me lightly on the shoulder before capturing me in a powerful bro-hug.

Meet CWO2 Ajay "Kayak" Nayak, or "Blackbeard 5," 1 Troop's operations chief.

The five-foot-eleven, clean-shaven Indian-American earned his nickname thanks to a series of misadventures involving a kayak at a Boy Scout summer camp. Long story short, he was labeled "The Walking Waterfront Hazard" with anything except for swimming—something especially embarrassing when accounting for his job in the Navy.

Now, my backstory with Kayak is deeper than that of anyone else in the troop. He's been by my side since the beginning, with us going through everything from NSWPS to SQT together before we were assigned to SEAL Team 2, where we stayed for six years, taking online classes to earn our bachelor's degrees in 2017.

In this year, we were selected for Green Team, after which we were drafted into Blue Squadron's 1 Troop—specifically Alpha Team. In 2024, our troop commander was killed in action during a hostage rescue operation in Afghanistan, resulting in 1 Troop being deactivated as the Command scrambled to find a replacement.

In what I could only call a moment of divine intervention, the CO of DEVGRU made me an offer: go through OCS and Ranger School, excel in both, and I'd be given the billet of troop commander.  In what could only be called as complete and total recklessness, I said yes.

Apparently, the CO had been studying the operators before he came across my profile, and after some discussion with Blue Squadron's commander and master chief along with other operators in the squadron and even SEAL Team 2, he thought I would be the best possible candidate for commanding the troop... especially considering that no new officers were among the latest Green Team graduates.  He still thought it was a good idea.

While I was in OCS, Kayak went to LDO/WO/CWO Academy before joining me for Ranger School as a warrant officer 1 while I was an ensign. But while Kayak was able to go right back to DEVGRU, I had to be reassigned to a platoon in SEAL Team 2 due to the fact that I was now an O-1... but the CO of DEVGRU quickly wrote up special orders for me to augment a very understrength 1 Troop for a spin-up that got nicknamed "the Middle Finger to Murphy."

Let's just say that there was no way we should've been able to recover that woman's corpse, let alone alive and in one piece... but we did it, and the lady was able to go home to her family.

Anyways, CO of DEVGRU surprised me by giving me a battlefield promotion to O-4 at the beginning of the spin-up, telling me the rank of lieutenant commander was necessary to command the fractured troop as well (even though I wasn't a DEVGRU operator); request operational control of other JSOC, SOCOM, or conventional assets; and just generally keep the guys with stars from losing their shit... because even if the greatest non-com in the history of non-coms (maybe ever) was the guy in command of the whole op, some general or admiral would be throwing a fit.

Not only was the mission a resounding success despite all odds, the Chief of Naval Operations herself signed off on special orders that made my battlefield promotion permanent, on the condition that I was non-promotable for at least 10 years (9 to account for the times in grade for promotion to O-2, O-3, O-4, and O-5, plus an extra year just because she felt like it). And it case you're wondering how in the hell the CNO agreed to fast-tracked me from being an ensign to becoming a lieutenant commander, the word around JSOC was that the CO of DEVGRU was "well acquainted" with SOCOM's commander, vice commander, deputy commander, and senior enlisted leader. Moreover, all four men owed the captain their lives due to him saving them at various points... which may have contributed to the rumor that the four whispered words in the CNO's ear to "settle their debt."

But ultimately, I ended up a lieutenant commander just months after becoming an ensign, and DEVGRU's CO was able to reactivate 1 Troop by making me its commander. To top it off, despite being a warrant officer, Kayak was assigned to fill the troop operations chief billet, allowing us to continue to work together. Ever since 2024, we've been the officers of 1 Troop, which underwent several changes during the months when we were away, forming into the group of men that it is today (save for one, who joined in 2026).

Long story short, we've been damn near inseparable for the past twenty years, and I'm willing to bet my best friend and I are closer than brothers.

"What's up, brother?" I asked as I clapped him on the back, happy to see him again. "Did you get started on your Master's?"

"Oh, yeah, man! It's awesome!" Kayak replied excitedly. Ever the academic, he's using our two years of modified reserve duty to earn his Master of Science degree in Mechanical Engineering. Seriously, not only is he a physical freak of nature, he's a mental one too.

"How the hell do you do it, Kayak?"

"Well, there is a reason I was part of the 'nerd group' in high school!"

"And in every other school imaginable," I deadpanned.

"Hi Ajay!" Estelle cut in, resulting in her being scooped up in a hug by my cheery friend. Kayak was literally the first non-family member she met, and watched her grow up along with me. He also served as a major source of advice for me, since he was an older brother as well, having a younger sister and brother. Close behind Estelle were my parents, who were also close to Kayak.

As the four exchanged pleasantries and caught up, I looked around the beach, identifying the members of my troop.

First on the beach, there were three men and some children playing with a dog.

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon!" the man running with the dog shouted as they raced for the frisbee: SOC "Patch," or "Alpha 2," a corpsman turned SEAL that earned his nickname from how he once wore an eyepatch, fixing up his Marines while nursing an eye injury.

"Good boy!" another man shouted as the dog caught the frisbee: SO1 "Seuss," or "Delta 4," a Seabee turned SEAL with a love for reading—so much so, he volunteered for reading to kids at the local library—the least "Florida Man" Florida Man I knew.

The one with the ball and frisbee was SO2 "Pupper," one of our attached combat support personnel and the troop's dog handler.  Given his role, he would augment the teams as "[insert team] 7" on an ad hoc basis—generally the assault teams, but occasionally the sniper team.  The SEAL was the youngest of us all and most recent draftee into 1 Troop, hence the nickname.

Playing fetch with my guys while barking excitedly was Brutus, a four-year-old Belgian Malinois multi-purpose canine. Not only is he freaking adorable, but he can sniff out explosives and  track down persons of interest to assist with their apprehension. Due to the latter ability, we affectionately refer to Brutus as the "Fur Missile."

I turned towards the backyard, where three of my men were in a water gun fight with some of the women and children.

The man getting mobbed by a team of kids was SOCS "Thumper," callsign "Bravo 1."  He'd been a Muay Thai fighter earlier in life, which probably had something to do with him simultaneously being a godsend and menace with forty mike-mike grenade launchers, particularly the Pirate Gun.

The man throwing water balloons willy-nilly was SO1 "Lock," callsign "Alpha 5." The former mineman used to be infamous in boot camp, as he constantly got himself and his fellow boots smoked by the RDCs for forgetting to lock his footlocker—which is why he double-checks damn near everything these days.

"Not today, honey!" SO1 "Vader," or "Delta 6," laughed as he playfully tackled his wife, sending them tumbling into the sand.  The Scout Sniper turned SEAL was one of the greatest shots I've met, along with being a huge Star Wars nerd.  No joke, he has a Darth Vader suit that would make a professional costume crew proud.

Turning towards the surf, I saw four men in the water with boards.

The one stomach-down on his boogie board was S01 "Specs," callsign "Delta 5."  The shortest and sole member of 1 Troop to wear glasses full-time, the former radiation therapist was an intellectual beast, smarter than just about anyone I've ever met.

"Yo, watch out WATCH OUT!" SOC "Doc," or "Delta 3," bellowed as he crashed into the third man.  An MRI tech before joining the Teams, he served as Delta Team's primary corpsman with medical expertise few could match.

The boogie boarder Doc crashed into was SO1 "Voodoo," or "Alpha 4." Not only was he Alpha Team's breacher, but he knew enough sleight-of-hand tricks to rival professional magicians—along with an incredibly silly chain of events that occurred after he was "cursed" in Africa.

Only SO1 "Gab," otherwise known as "Bravo 4," was actually surfing amongst the SEALs—rather ironic considering that he was from Colorado.  The only reason we tolerated his tendency to gab and chat like there was no tomorrow was that he was a damn good machine gunner.

And finally, turning back towards the beach, where the remainder of my men were barbecuing the brisket for the evening, utilizing a grill over a fire pit, with another bonfire blazing close by.

The bald man eating from a loaded plate of side dishes was SOCS "Crockpot," or "Alpha 1."  Not only could he cook damn near anything—as he when we dined on Rabbit a la Jet Fuel in Afghanistan—but he's proven himself time and time again extremely effective team leader, even in scenarios that make Hollywood look realistic.

The brown-bearded man in the cowboy hat grilling the brisket and telling a joke was SO1 "Snake," or "Alpha 3."  The giant, muscular Texan served as Alpha Team's machine gunner, but that didn't save him from relentless teasing regarding the time in SQT that a snake got into his boot—and it didn't help that he enjoyed playing the Metal Gear games in his youth, being a big fan of Solid Snake.

The woman that playfully reached up and stole Snake's cowboy hat while laughing at the aforementioned joke was LSC "Stinger."  The shorty, feisty woman not only ensured we had all the gear we needed, but she provided support from the TOC ("Blackbeard Main"), helping to coordinate friendly assets.  While she was incredibly sassy, her nickname was derived from a run-in with a hornets' nest in Afghanistan, landing her in the infirmary for two weeks.

The man laughing along with Stinger was the troop's communications chief and lead JTAC: SOCS "Scout," or "Blackbeard 8."  The car mechanic turned Navy SEAL was extremely capable in directing fires, and was a CCT in all but name (according to CCTs we trained and worked with), but everyone remembered him for his off-duty job as an assistant scoutmaster for his son's Boy Scout troop.

Shaking his head next to Snake while sipping a can of soda was "Spooky," a CIA targeting officer and our troop's liaison to the Agency. The spook was a HUMINT specialist that supplied us with intel and helped to ID potential assets and threats to our operations, working in Blackbeard Main.  Trust me, this was one man you didn't want chasing your secrets.

Standing a bit further away from the rest of the group were a man and a woman engaging in a hushed conversation.

The petite blonde was LT "Cinderella," the Naval Intelligence officer attached to our unit. She worked with Spooky on HUMINT while also working on SIGINT and other intelligence sources with different specialists inside and outside of DEVGRU. She serves as our eye in the sky during ops, watching over us with ISR assets and supporting us from the TOC. She's considered one of the sisters of the troop, her nickname coming from her resemblance to Cinderella and her first meeting with her husband (it involved... you guessed it... a dance).

Said husband was the mid-sized brunet with Cinderella: Captain "Charming," an F-22 pilot of the US Air Force's 27th Fighter Squadron. While the boys and I would've called him "Charming" due to him hitting it off with Catherine at a dance, he already had the nickname thanks to his fellow aviators. As it turns out, Charming's looks were so good (disturbingly similar to Disney's Prince Charming), he caught all of the ladies' eyes without meaning to—but defying expectations, he wasn't exactly a ladies' man, only making his callsign ironic.

Finally, standing quietly off to the side of the rest with a smile on his face was SOCM "Preacher," callsign "Blackbeard 7": the troop chief, longest-tenured operator, and my right-hand man.  The soft-spoken Santa-lookalike (save for him being more fit, along with a shorter beard and hair) earned his nickname from his speeches of inspiration and prayers—which actually instilled senses of confidence and safety within ourselves, even within those that weren't Godly men like him.

Not only was he the only member of 1 Troop apart from me and Ajay to complete Ranger School, he was originally part of Red Squadron from 2005-2015 before he was reassigned to Blue Squadron; his time with Red Squadron is one of the reasons why he often carried a hatchet as part of his kit (besides the fact that it's useful for breaching—specifically breaking open gates, doors, and locks—and hand-to-hand combat in a worst-case-scenario).  Moreover, he actually took part in Operation Neptune Spear, when the UBL was finally put in the ground.

Apart from all that, I couldn't really tell you much else about him, apart from that I'd rather take a knife into a gunfight than be interrogated by him or face him in combat.  He's got more experience and more schools under his belt than the rest of the troop, making him one of the most dangerous men on the planet.

Like the saying goes: beware an old man in a profession where men die young.

Oh, and don't forget me: Percy "Sharky" Jackson, callsign "Blackbeard 6" and 1 Troop's OIC. While it isn't as impressive as Preacher's resume, I have managed to become qualified as a JFO, breacher, and jumpmaster, along with basic understandings of the jobs of my men.  One important lesson I've learned throughout the years is that you need to know the jobs of the men above and below you, for there may come a time that you need to fill the breach.

As for my nickname, in a one-in-a-million incident, some sharks got pretty close to me during BUD/S but didn't attack me. This resulted in my fellow Tadpoles (slang for SEAL trainees in BUD/S) to joke that I was part shark, which is why I wasn't eaten or mauled.

Now, in case you're wondering about the callsigns, it's simple: there are four six-man teams, Alpha through Charlie (assault) and Delta (sniper/recce).  Unlike CAG, we have sniper assets organic to the troop rather than the squadron.  Generally speaking, each assault team has at least two snipers while the all members of the fourth team are snipers (and often some of the more experienced operators), giving troops more long-range capabilities (and, on paper, DEVGRU assault squadrons the same number of snipers as a CAG saber squadron

Much of the time, myself and the HQ element (Preacher, Scout, Kayak) would remain in the TOC with Blackbeard Main to coordinate the teams as they went out to complete their objectives.  But in circumstances when the entire troop was going outside the wire, one, two, three, or all of us would go out and operate, setting up a base element or attaching ourselves to the teams.  More often than not, we stayed with Delta Team, as they were the sniper team and had a pretty good view of everything happening.

Anyways, back to the men of 1 Troop. These guys are humble, and are so average in the way they look and act, I'd take them for regular nine-to-fivers in cubicles rather than door-kicking DEVGRU operators if I didn't know any better. Even Snake's six-foot-five beefy self, who stands out the most out of all of us, still does a good job in blending in with a crowd (though admittedly, on ops where we were required to be in plainclothes, Snake was never my first choice for infiltrating a crowd, and served better as part of a security/QRF element).

Plus, while they may not show it at times (all of them—save for Preacher—can be real dumbasses when they want to), these men are all incredibly intelligent sailors with amazing critical thinking skills. This may make them all sound like gods or supermen, but they're just normal men with special skills acquired through experience and training.

We're all human in the end, which is something Hollywood and other forms of media often forget.

Yes, I know I only count halfway.

"Hey, brother!"

I was shaken out of my contemplation by Kayak, who held a can of ginger ale and a can of Coca-Cola, offering the Coke to me. I accepted it, and we walked over to the bonfire, catching up, before Kayak had a suggestion:

"Hey, Sharky. What do you say we round up the gang?"

I checked my watch to see that the time was already 2040, with thirty-five minutes until the fireworks began. I doubled my pace to the bonfire before cupping my hands around my mouth and shouting:

"ATTENTION ON DECK!"

Save for Preacher, every sailor (and the one airman and CIA officer) at the fire pit quickly stood at attention in a knee-jerk reaction, before realizing it was me just messing with them. Meanwhile, the rest of the SEALs had seen me and were now running towards the fire pit.

"Hey, Sharky!" Preacher greeted with his thick Southern accent and a smile as we shared a bro-hug. "Good to see you."

"You too, Preacher," I replied with a smile.

"Evenin', sir! You mind tellin' Miss Kleptomaniac here to give me back my hat?" Snake asked with a similarly thick Southern accent, shooting a glare towards Stinger, who was still wearing his cowboy hat with a mischievous grin.

"Sorry, Snake. What Chief wants, Chief gets," I replied with a shrug, shooting a wink towards the giggling logistics specialist.

"It's a goddamn conspiracy," he muttered as he turned over the brisket on the grill, but he had a small smile on his face. "Good to see you, boss-man."

"You too, brother," I responded as I patted him on the back and shared a handshake with Spooky. "Spooky, good to see you. Crockpot and Scout, nice to see you old goats still alive," I added, acknowledging both senior chiefs with a grin.

"Good to see you, brother, but don't think you'll have much time to chat. You've got a fan club behind you," Scout replied, pointing towards the rest of the SEALs that had just crowded around me. Bro-hugs, fist-bumps, handshakes, and greetings were exchanged all around (with the exception of Brutus, who just tackled me and licked me instead).

Many greetings and one helluva dinner later (including the very tasty brisket by Snake), the boisterous crowd grew silent as I raised my soda can.

"Ladies, gentlemen, today is the Fourth of July, a day of joyous celebration. However, we have more to celebrate than America's birthday. Pupper?" I asked, eliciting chuckles from the crowd.

"Are you ever gonna drop that name?" Pupper replied indignantly, but nonetheless stepped forward with Brutus. "We have another birthday to celebrate... GIVE IT UP FOR BRUTUS!"

Happy birthday to you,

Happy birthday to you!

Happy birthday dear Brutus!

Happy birthday to you!

Kayak placed a party hat on the dog's head as we sang, making Brutus bark excitedly. The Fur Missile jumped for joy as he heard us sing his name, with Pupper laughing hysterically at our lieutenant's antics.

"Who wants cake?" sang Jenny Davis—Preacher's wife—as she came forward with one of her famous triple-layer chocolate cakes, marked with icing to commemorate Brutus's fifth birthday and the Fourth of July. She also had on the tray a small cupcake made specially for Brutus, which Pupper promptly took and fed to the birthday boy as the chocolate cake was cut and divided among the group.

Seriously, the Fur Missile is ridiculously cute... except when he's chewing on a bad guy. I kid you not, on one mission, he was damn near biting a Taliban leader's arm off before we brought him into custody. Not even one hour later, Brutus was cuddling with me while Pupper was resting in the infirmary. He just loves cuddling, especially with anyone in the troop, and is great with kids.

"Hey, folks! Fireworks are comin' in soon!" Voodoo announced as he checked his watch.

"Before that, though, we have an announcement!" Cinderella interjected, lacing her fingers with Charming's as the two stepped forward.

"Okay, shoot!" Specs replied as he spooned another piece of cake into his mouth.

The intelligence officer and pilot looked at each other before turning back towards us with what appeared to be nervous smiles.

"Well... Catherine's expecting a special package in approximately seven months," Charming said slowly.

Gasps could be heard among the women while us men stood silently in confusion, save for Preacher, Scout, and Crockpot, who were simply chuckling.

Suddenly, it clicked.

"Holy shi—" Snake began before Jenny interrupted with a loud, stern:

"ELIAS JEBEDIAH QUINN!"

"... sorry, ma'am," he muttered, not wanting to incur her wrath. You see, while Preacher and Jenny don't have biological children, they have adopted a total of nine children, with the oldest being twenty-four and the youngest being fourteen. Said children, along with all the other kids, let out a low "oooh" at Jenny's scolding while the adults snickered.

There's a reason we occasionally nickname Preacher and Jenny as "Papa Davis" and "Mama Davis" respectively, given how often their parenting sides come out even when they aren't addressing their kids. The Southern couple was a force to be reckoned with while simultaneously being two of the kindest people I've ever met.

"But Catherine, you're pregnant?!?" Stinger exclaimed, making the Navy-Air Force couple smile and nod.

"We're gonna be uncles again, boys!" Lock exclaimed, causing the rest of us to whoop and cheer with excitement. The men and women crowded around the airman and sailor respectively. The women all hugged Cinderella while us men gave Charming handshakes and claps on the back.

"Congratulations, brother!" Thumper said gleefully as he picked Charming up in a backbreaking hug.

"Agh! Yes, thank you!" Charming gasped as he struggled to breath.

I turned to Preacher and Kayak, who were both wearing massive grins.

"Remember Jimbo's wedding?" Kayak asked.

"Do I ever," I sighed.

As cheers, congratulations, and Brutus's excited barking could be heard, the three of us recalled the day Cinderella found her prince.

SIX YEARS EARLIER...

SO1 James "Jimbo" Markowski was sharing his first dance with Kaylah Markowski, nee Kazinsky, as husband and wife. I sat with Catherine McNair (who had recently been promoted to the rank of lieutenant junior grade), Preacher, Jenny, Kayak, and Shivani Patel (Kayak's girlfriend). We were in a large area outside of a church, where the wedding just took place.

We applauded when the Markowskis finished, and the dance floor was subsequently opened up to everyone else.

I stood, offering my hand to Catherine.

"May I have this dance?" I asked, as we had gone as each others' dates. We were just friends though, with no romantic tensions between us.

"I'd be delighted," she pleasantly replied, standing as she took my hand. We danced for some time, making small talk while she coached my dancing. I had some help from Mom before coming, but I still had no idea what I was doing. Catherine, though, was well-versed in dance and thus more than able to lead, holding my right hand in her left as we waltzed.

When the music switched to something more modern, I decided to vacate the floor, offering a cheesy bow.

"Thank you, LTJG, for honoring me with this dance," I said in the best English accent I could manage.

"You're quite welcome, Commander. I'm honored to have danced with you," Catherine giggled in an equally English voice, curtsying to me.

After a quick trip to the head, I moseyed over to the free bar.  Looking around and taking in the cool evening air, I sipped at my drink.

"Evening," a male voice said to my left. I turned to see a man shorter than me that reminded me of Prince Charming from Cinderella. The resemblance was almost uncanny. I quickly realized that this man was also one of Jimbo's groomsmen.

"Evenin '," I greeted, extending my hand. "Percy Jackson."

"Charlie Anderson," he replied with a grin as he shook my hand. "Navy?"

"How'd you figure?"

"Well, you seem pretty close to Jimbo, who I know is a sailor. Plus, when he was talking shipspeak, you seemed to understand pretty well."

"Touche," I acquiesced. "What about you? Navy as well?"

"Nope. Air Force. First lieutenant."

"Ah, a Zoomie, I see," lightly mocking the airman with the slang, eliciting a chortle. "How'd you and Jimbo meet if you're in the Chair Force?"

"We grew up in Milwaukee together. He's like the older brother I never had. We separated when he went to NWTC (Northeast Wisconsin Technical College), though. By the time I went to the USAF Academy some years later, he had enlisted in the Navy. We managed to keep in touch, and here we are!"

"Nice," I replied with a nod. "So, how come you're not dancing? I thought the groomsmen had to dance."

"The bridesmaid I was dancing with had to go home. Something about her kid being sick."

"Ouch," I muttered with a sympathetic wince, sipping my drink as I turned towards the dance floor. I saw Catherine back at the table all alone, looking bored and maybe even forlorn. Then, the gears began turning in my head.

Poor thing got all dolled up for the occasion. What if I...? Well, I hope this isn't a bad idea...

"Say, Anderson," I began. "If you're looking for a dance partner, how about asking the pretty blonde lady at that table over there? The one in the light blue dress?"

"I thought... isn't she your date?" Anderson asked confusedly.

"Yes, but she's a friend, more like a little sister. She likes dancing, and it ain't exactly my thing. Go on," I urged. "Just be nice, you understand?"

"Well, okay," he replied nervously, downing his champagne. "Wish me luck."

"Go get 'er, Prince Charming," I joked, patting him on the back as he walked off. Seriously, it was a little disturbing just how much Catherine looked like Disney's Cinderella, minus the glass slippers and extravagant dress, having her blonde hair down with curls rather than pinned up, and being Southern, not European. And Anderson? Basically Prince Charming in a suit and tie.

"Forget about the midnight curfew, fairy godmother," I whispered to myself.

"What's going on, Sharky?"

I turned to see Preacher and Kayak also at the bar, holding drinks.

"Hey, fellas," I greeted. "I may have just played matchmaker."

"Someone's daring," Preacher chuckled with a raised eyebrow.

"I'll bet you ten bucks he'll ask her out later in the evening," Kayak said.

"Not takin' that bet, bro," I responded as I watched Anderson dance with Catherine. While I couldn't hear them, I was fairly sure that despite some nervousness, they seemed to be having a good time together.

She had a dazed smile on the entire ride to her house, and seemed rather distracted when I dropped her off. A little while later, at a Christmas party, I walked in on the two under the mistletoe, kissing longer than required.

Some years later, I called commands for a saber arch as the two walked down the aisle as Charles and Catherine Anderson. Or, as the boys and I called them: Charming and Cinderella.

The prince and the princess.

BACK TO THE PRESENT...

I smiled as I reminisced, seeing how Cinderella had matured, starting with us as an ensign with barely two years in the Navy, and now a lieutenant with ten years under her belt. Furthermore, she and her husband were now starting their own family.

It reminded me of Estelle: once a tiny bundle of drool and incoherent babble, now a young lady.

Many hugs and good wishes later, we all sat together on the beach as bright fireworks lit up the night sky.

As cheesy as it sounds, the explosions of red, white, and blue served as a reminder: we are blessed with life, and it stayed running thanks to those that keep the wolves at bay—the soldiers, sailors, Marines, airmen, Coast Guardsmen, Guardians (Space Force—yes, even they've done great things in the past few years), firefighters, police officers... even those that didn't flight including the medical workers, tradesmen, and so many more... all working together to keep America going.

This nation was protected by those who gave to it, with some sacrificing it all, and I was proud to be one of those standing behind them and the flag.

"How time flies, am I right?" Dad mused as he looked up at the bright night sky.

"Yeah," I replied with a smile as I looked around, seeing the people surrounding me: the SEALs I fought with, the personnel that supported our operations, the ones we all held dear in our lives.

This was my family.

This was home.

List of 1 Troop Personnel:

Format:

Section (DESCRIPTION)

Callsign: RANK FIRSTNAME "NICKNAME" SURNAME (role)

If [REDACTED], it means the character hasn't been introduced yet.  I'm cutting out the names too, save for some characters that will be highlighted more eventually.

Blackbeard (HEADQUARTERS)

Blackbeard 5: CW2 Kayak (medical/planning warrant officer)

Blackbeard 6: LCDR Sharky (troop commander)

Blackbeard 7: SOCM Preacher (troop chief)

Blackbeard 8: SOCS Scout (JTAC/communications chief)

Blackbeard (TOC/COMBAT [SERVICE] SUPPORT)

LT Cinderella (intel officer)

LSC Stinger (logistics specialist)

TO Spooky (CIA liaison)

SO2 Pupper (MPC handler/SSE)

Honorary SOC Brutus (MPC)

Alpha Team (ASSAULT)

Alpha 1: SOCS Crockpot (team leader/jumpmaster)

Alpha 2: SOC Patch (corpsman/sniper)

Alpha 3: SO1 Snake (machine gunner/demolitions)

Alpha 4: SO1 Voodoo (breacher/demolitions)

Alpha 5: SO1 Lock (grenadier/breacher)

Alpha 6: [REDACTED]

Bravo Team (ASSAULT)

Bravo 1: SOCS Thumper (team leader/grenadier)

Bravo 2: [REDACTED]

Bravo 3: [REDACTED]

Bravo 4: SO1 Gab (communicator/machine gunner)

Bravo 5: [REDACTED]

Bravo 6: [REDACTED]

Charlie Team (ASSAULT)

Charlie 1: [REDACTED]

Charlie 2: [REDACTED]

Charlie 3: [REDACTED]

Charlie 4: [REDACTED]

Charlie 5: [REDACTED]

Charlie 6: [REDACTED]

Delta Team (SNIPER/RECCE)

Delta 1: [REDACTED]

Delta 2: [REDACTED]

Delta 3: SOC Doc (corpsman/breacher)

Delta 4: SO1 Seuss (surveillance/demolitions)

Delta 5: SO1 Specs (corpsman/UAV operator)

Delta 6: SO1 Vader (lead sniper/surveillance)

It has been a while, hasn't it?  I appreciate everyone's patience.

There are a lot of details (hopefully not too many), but like I said earlier, I'm aiming for maximum realism in regards to military matters.  Keep in mind, however, I'm not an expert on the military, I'm not a military historian, and I'm not in the military.  I'm striving for realism out of respect to the men and women that do this in real life.

All gave some, and some gave all, and we can never forget their sacrifice.

The ETA of the next update is unknown, but I am working on it.  Don't hesitate to leave a question in the comments, but I'm having a hard time checking everything (there's a lot of backlog due to inactivity).

Thank you once again for reading, and I'll see y'all next time.  Until then, readers.

Oh, and also...

'MURICA!  Happy 245th birthday U.S.A., and I hope everyone has a fantastic Fourth of July!

 - ADF-2

P.S.: Yes, I know the meme has some improper spelling.