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String parked the jeep outside the pub. He shot Dom a crooked grin. “How ‘bout a beer. I think we deserve it.”
Dom grinned back and got out. “Okay. I don’t know what was worse, the mission or debriefing with Archangel afterwards.”
String chuckled and threw an arm across Dom’s shoulders as they climbed the steps to the front door. “No one was shooting at us during the debriefing.”
Dom laughed. “Hey, then I would’ve been able to stay awake.”
String held the door for Dom. “I think you offended Michael.”
Dom shrugged. “Yeah, and?” He took one step inside and froze.
“Dom?”
“It can’t be,” Dom muttered.
String touched Dom’s shoulder. “What is it?”
Dom turned, shouldered String out of the way, and headed back out.
String frowned and looked around at the scattered groups of people talking and eating. Three bikers played pool. A group of teenagers gathered around the jukebox. Five middle aged men played poker at a table in the corner. He didn’t recognize anyone. No one seemed to be a threat.
One of the poker players thumped the man next to him on the back. “I know you’re cheating, Grub. I just can’t prove it,” he said good naturedly.
The supposed cheater dramatically clutched his chest. “Oh, Willie, you wound me.”
String laughed quietly, shrugged, and followed Dom.
Dom paced by the side of the jeep. He waved his arms in agitation. “I’ve got to get out of here.”
String watched Dom for a moment. He bit his lip and stepped in front of him. He took his friend by the shoulders. “Dom, what’s wrong?”
Dom stared at String’s chest. “Nothing.”
“Come on,” String tried reasonably. “You ran out of there like a snake bit you.”
Dom’s shoulders slumped. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m okay. I just don’t feel well. Can we go home?”
Dom still wouldn’t meet his eyes and String wasn’t sure what to make of it. He gave Dom’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “What’s got you so spooked?” he asked gently.
Dom jerked away. His eyes sparked with anger and another emotion that String couldn’t identify. “Mind your own business,” he snapped. He climbed back into the jeep’s passenger seat. He sat stiffly, facing forward. “Let’s go.”
String opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. He shook his head and got behind the wheel. He started the engine but half turned. “Dom--”
Dom set his jaw. “No, String.”
They made the journey back to the hangar in silence. As soon as they parked, Dom got out and strode inside, leaving String staring after him.
Dom locked the office door behind him. He lowered the blinds. He knelt on the floor behind his desk and removed one of the floor tiles to reveal a safe. He unlocked it and pulled out a large manila envelope.
Dom’s knees protested when he pushed himself off the floor. He eased into his desk chair and stared at the envelope in his hands. He threw it on the desk and put his head back to stare at the ceiling.
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You should just let the past stay buried,” he muttered under his breath.
He rubbed a hand down his face. He grunted and sat forward. “But the ghosts are alive tonight.”
He tapped the envelope with one hand and reached into his bottom drawer with the other. He set a bottle of scotch and shot glass next to it. “There’s nothing wrong with a little bit of liquid courage.”
He poured himself a scotch, threw it back, and slammed the glass back down. He grabbed the envelope and opened it. He reverently drew out a stack of black and white photos.
The top one was a portrait of a PT boat crew. The PT-73 and her crew of misfits. He saw himself in another life and had to swallow past the lump in his throat.
The next one was all the boys wearing grass skirts, including Fuji. His smile was bittersweet. “They really were the biggest bunch of eight balls. They were more trouble than they were worth, but they were my boys.”
The third photo was a portrait of Captain Binghamton full of dart holes. He snorted and went on to the next one. What was there really to say about Old Leadbottom?
Number four was a shot Fuji managed to get from concealment. It was Binghamton and Lieutenant Carpenter soaking wet after Ensign Parker accidentally got them dunked. He ran his fingers over Carpenter’s image. “Oh, Lucky,” he sighed. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you were at that poker game.”
Next, he came across a shot of Carpenter grinning that time they’d managed to get leave together to New Caledonia. He licked his dry lips. “I didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye to you.”
He blinked rapidly a few times. “Ah, this is all ancient history.”
Then he found a small black box at the bottom of the envelope. He opened it to see Quinton McHale’s posthumous medal of honor. He grunted and snapped it shut. “I could’ve done without that honor, Admiral.”
There was a hesitant knock at the door and String’s concerned voice. “Dom, you want to talk about it?”
For a split second Dom thought about it, but this was his burden to carry. “No,” he hollered back.
“Please.”
Dom rubbed the wetness from his eyes in frustration. “Just let it go, String. I’ll be all right.”
“Okay. You know where to find me if you need me.”
Dom took a deep breath and poured himself another drink. He held it up and nodded to the ghosts in the pictures. “Here’s to you, fellas.”