Page 29 of Sheltering Instinct

Working both search and rescue and tactical support, it was imperative that Levi protect future missions and future lives by only choosing a dog with a focused nose and a weaponized bite. That bite had to be accurate and controlled.

The wash of the helicopter sent debris spray that pinged and pocked Levi’s face. But under the suit and hood, he felt nothing.Yet.

As the wash of air became loud and heavy, Levi threw his head around to see what was coming his way.

The helicopter was about a hundred yards off, skimming the ground as it glided slowly forward. A soldier, tethered to the door, leaned out, gripping the handle of Mojo’s tactical vest.

Mojo wasn’t scrambling. There was no anxiety in his body. On the contrary, Mojo had locked on to the prey,him.

Holy heck. That dog was the damned tip of the spear. And that spear was going to be flying at him. Still looking behind him, without any design other than the lizard part of his brain desperately trying to find a rock to hide under, Levi sprinted forward.

Well, sprint-like.

From over where Reaper and Goose stood, he probably looked like a maniac.

Hovering feet from the ground, the soldier released Mojo.

As Mojo hit the dirt, he rolled to disperse the energy of the helicopter’s forward momentum. That roll looked practiced and precise.

Good job on that training, Enrico. A broken leg day is a bad day indeed.

Mojo finished the roll, landing on his feet. His body lowered and streamlined; he shot forward in a swirl of caramel and black.

Fur missile launched! Here he came.

Levi turned to face forward. His system heated and sweat-slicked over him. His heart was racing. Something about Mojo set Levi’s nervous system on fire. It was like he was back in the Sandbox, racing away from the enemy.

Levi could hear Mojo’s breath. Turning his head, they locked eyes.

The K9 took a mighty leap.

With no airtime, no time to think or process, Levi reflexively lifted a defensive arm.

Mojo sank his teeth into the padding of the bite suit.

Dangling in the air, Mojo’s velocity was spinning Levi against his will.

And suddenly, there was Levi, flat on his back. He had hit down hard.

Flailing about, simulating a poacher fighting back, Levi could feel every bit of the two-hundred-plus pounds of K9 jaw pressure.

Pushing back into his haunches, Mojo shook his head with a powerful neck.

The sinews in Levi’s shoulder were tearing, and he had no desire to keep up this fight.

How far off were those soldiers?

Even though Levi’s brain hollered, “Flee!” Levi had trained to bypass the absurd and make clear-minded choices. The only survival choice here was to force his body to lay perfectly still no matter what happened next.

Twisting his head, Levi could see that the helicopter had landed, and there were boots on the ground running toward him.

Levi focused on his tactical breath, holding himself statue still, waiting for the handlers to get on scene.

Even with Levi’s submission response, Mojo’s mouth still wrapped Levi’s arm. While the bite lost its pressure, Mojo hadn’t released the padded sleeve. One move, one, and Levi knew the punishment would begin again.

The bite was the easiest part for the dog. What came next would tell everything about the dog’s personality and the quality of his training. Man, Levi was praying this wasn’t another Casper situation.

Mojo was very clearly having a ball.

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