“I don’t disagree with you, Aden, but . . .” He turns back toward the sound of our men chanting as they prep for our op—the last op of our deployment before we get to go home back to the States.
The air is electrified with a palpable energy reminding me of the days before playoff games in high school when the locker room felt alive with the excitement of a team about to annihilate the competition.
To keep from being overheard, Grant steps closer. “It’s not the men I’m worried about, it’s their leader.”
I resist the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose. “Al-Bishi is intense, but he’s harmless—”
“How do you know that, Aden?” There’s anger in his voice and a flash of something wild in his dark eyes.
“Because he’s a twenty-six-year-old husband and father of two little girls who live in a city that is controlled by evil. He is invested in our mission.”
He scoffs. “Invested. Is that what he told you?”
“No, that’s what my gut tells me and my gut hasn’t failed us yet.”
He steps back with a humorless bark of laughter. “Fine. But I too am invested in our mission, Colt. I’m twenty-eight hours away from a flight home to my wife and baby who I haven’t seen in over a year.”
“This isn’t a meat-eating op, our only job is to provide backup if needed. Al-Bishi and his men are ready to handle this alone, there’s no reason why you won’t make it home to Kim and Eva.”
He shrugs. “I’m keeping my eye on that asshole and if I see so much as a muscle twitch in the wrong way I’m puttin’ a fucking bullet in his skull.”
Now it’s me who steps close. “Grant, I get it. You’re feeling the effects of a fifteen-month deployment. The paranoia, trust me, I fucking get that—”
“You don’t get shit.” He turns to stomp out of the room, but turns back one last time, his eyes blazing with the angst I heard in his voice. “Strap up, Sarge. As much as you can carry. We’re gonna need it.”
“Hadhih laysat munawara.” This is not a drill. I address both the Iraqi team as well as my own in Arabic. “We have intel that there are two ISIL leaders currently hiding in this village.” I turn toward Al-Bishi, who is standing at my left. “You’ll take orders from Al-Bishi. My team has been instructed to provide backup only. Any questions?”
When the group of eighteen stay silent, I nod for Al-Bishi to command his men.
“Shukraan laky a sadiq.” Thank you, friend.
It’s never sat well with me that he refers to me as “friend,” as it implies we’re on equal ground when I’m his commanding officer, but I’ve let it slide for the sake of peace. Feeling eyes on me, I find LaRoy glaring a hole right through me. Twenty-four more hours, Grant. Hang in there, brother.
Al-Bishi runs through the plan to hike the four kilometers to the outskirts of the small village, then to surround the house and when they’re all in position to infiltrate.
With adrenaline coursing through our veins, we make quick work of the hike down into the valley, making sure to say alert and low to avoid being spotted. The only noise we’re putting off is the steady crunch of our boots to the dirt.
The scent of livestock alerts me that we’re close, so I motion for my guys to get down and be on the lookout. Pride fills my chest when I see Al-Bishi give a similar command to his men and they follow his order with ease.
Schmitt pulls up to my side, flashing me an eager smile. I’ve never met anyone as excited for battle as Camden Schmitt. It’s as if he came out of the womb a soldier, and although I dig his enthusiasm, his thirst for combat can make him unpredictable.
“Don’t.”
He chuckles quietly. “Oh come on, Sarge. One last time before I go back to Britney and I’m stuck in civilian life.”
“My job is to get you to your wedding in one piece or Brit will have my balls.”
I know I don’t need to remind him of our team’s role in this op, but I do anyway. “Backup only, Private.”
“Party pooper.” He drops behind me as we edge along the wall that runs the length of the small village.
We spread out behind the Iraqi soldiers and wait for them to enter through the gate. Al-Bishi gives the command and his men pour in like water to surround the house.
I motion with one arm for my team to follow and as we do, I feel LaRoy has my six. Whatever makes him feel better. I make a note to myself to talk to him about getting some help for his delusions as soon as we hit US soil.
Seamlessly my team of eight works like appendages of one well-oiled military machine. Having fought side by side for the past seven years, we’re able to read each other’s body language as we file in behind the Iraqi team. My senses are on hyper-drive as I identify the smell of smoke from a dwindling fire, my vision picking up the tidy kitchen and the sounds of—where is everyone?
My feet freeze. Breathing stills.
The only sound is the rapid beating of my pulse in my ears.
This is a surprise ambush on a residential location. Where are the women and kids?
My mind draws the conclusion just as the sound of rapid fire explodes all around us.
I point my weapon but don’t see the enemy we’re firing at.
The plaster walls burst and shatter.
I drop to the ground. Roll to the kitchen to take cover and that’s when I see them.
Terrorist militia dressed in all black flood in through the doors and windows. Bodies of men dressed in US fatigues drop all around me with the spray of pink mist.
We were set up.
Grant.
Fuck!
“It’s a setup!” I fire my weapon, clearing the way to crawl out in search of my men. “Get out!”
My ears pound as gunfire erupts from every direction. We’re completely surrounded. I grab O’Connor as he’s firing with one hand and dragging a bleeding and unconscious Iraqi soldier with him.
“Take cover!”
“No!” He fires and a body drops. “I won’t hide!” A bullet sings past me and buries itself into O’Connor’s neck.
Blood splatters my face.
He falls, clutching his throat.
“Fuck!” I whirl around and send a bullet through the enemy’s cranium.
Rage overtakes me.
Al-Bishi is a dead man.
Storming through the house I fire at the black-clothed militants, dropping them one by one as I hunt down the Iraqi commander.
The one I trained myself.
The one I fucking trusted with not only my life but the life of my men!
“Al-Bishi!” My throat burns and with the buzz of gunfire in my ears, my voice sounds more like a whisper. “You coward!”
Then he appears almost as if out of nowhere, or maybe he was searching for me too. Those black eyes shine with the joy of death that I’ve only ever seen in the face of pure evil.
“Sadiq!” His blood-covered face lights up with the joy that comes from a successful op. “American pig!”
My death is only seconds away, and as I raise my gun I welcome the burn of the bullet that’ll soon take my life. It’s what I deserve for not listening to Grant.
Oh God, Grant.
I say a silent prayer that he’ll forgive me for what I’ve done.
The pop of gunfire sounds.
A force slams into me.
I fall to my back and groan.
A heavy weight on my lungs makes it impossible to take a full breath.
Thankfully, there is no pain.