Page 27 of Hold On Through The Pain

Whitney spoke over the headset. “Congratulations, you got it done.”

“Sure did. We’re headed back.” Striker took a step and paused. Something was wrong. He held up his hand, and the rest of the guys stilled.

“What do you see?” Jackson asked.

“I heard something. A twig snapped up ahead.”

“Shit, we have company.” Jackson dropped low and began firing.

Striker hit the dirt, wishing they had a wall to hide behind. Brady hit someone, and Jackson took out another person. Striker rose to his elbows andprepared to fire. The crunch of leaves to his right had him rolling over. The guy had snuck up on them.

The sight of a man holding a gun on him, his finger on the trigger, made Striker’s blood run cold. Shock hit him like a wave, and he hesitated just a second as the guy pulled the trigger. Striker returned fire, hitting the guy in the head.

Blood sprayed on Striker’s hand and the dirt beside him. He gulped in air, taking in the stench of unwashed bodies that mixed with blood and gunpowder. It filled his nostrils and made his head spin.

Was he in pain? He didn’t think so. He wiggled his toes and fingers, and they all worked.

“Jesus, anyone get hit?” Striker asked as he rolled over and climbed to his feet.

“I’m good,” Jackson said.

Brady didn’t say anything. Striker stared at his buddy, anger mixed with sadness as he noticed the blood pooling beneath his friend. Another good man died, leaving behind his family. Anger churned, and he wanted to strike back, but he had a mission here.

“Fuck,” Striker said. “They got Brady.”

Jackson cleared his throat, and Striker turned to him. The man’s lips were pressed in a thin line. “I’ll get him.” Jackson’s voice was low, his words crisp.

“What happened?” Whitney asked.

“Brady is dead.” Striker’s stomach clenched, and his head ached.

“Dammit.” Whitney echoed his pain.

Jackson bent low and picked up Brady. Striker took their packs as they made their way back to the resort, stopping by to check on the family Bishop had been headed to help before they’d been attacked.

The woman and daughter were in tears when they saw Striker and his team. They went by the building where Bishop and his wounded men were hiding. Striker helped Bishop to standing, and half carried, half supported him so he could walk out of the building. Whitney had moved the group of embassy employees to another building near the main building. The headache wasn’t over, but they weren’t being shot at, and the SAM site was gone.

Anger rode Striker hard, but it wasn’t his place to say anything to the pompous asshats who through stupidity had placed everyone in danger.

He mourned Brady. They had drifted apart after Brady’s last promotion, but in basic training, they’d been best friends and had good times together. After basic, they’d hung out quite a bit, enjoying the late-night chats after fun bar visits, and then the early-morning runs. After a few missions as Rangers, they’d grown to be family, actually closer than just regular family. He’ddepended on Brady keeping him alive. Striker’s heart hollowed out. He’d failed his friend, just like he’d failed Dirk, who had died two weeks ago. It was a damn shame losing Dirk, just like it was a damn shame losing Brady.

Anger and pain swirled together. He didn’t want to lose any more of his friends. Whitney caught his eye and shook his head. Jesus, he wasn’t going to go off on these diplomats. It wouldn’t solve anything and might just end up with him in deep shit. No, he’d save his anger for later when he was home.

Jackson stumbled over and slunk down on the ground next to him. Neither of them spoke, but Jackson leaned up against him, resting his head on Striker’s shoulder. His eyes burned, but he wouldn’t shed any tears here.

The whoop-whoop of helicopter blades brought relief. They’d escape this hellhole without losing any more men.

On the chopper, Whitney sat on one side, Jackson on the other. He leaned his head on Jackson this time and drifted off as they made their way to the ship sitting offshore. Eventually, they’d be flown to a base in Spain and then home.

On the ship, they ate then slept as they rested up against each other. The embassy employees weren’t going to Spain with them, and a few of the Rangers were headed off to other bases. He landedin Spain and loaded onto the bus that would take him back to his temporary quarters where he could shower before grabbing a meal. They’d be gone before the sunset, so he’d sleep on the plane. Jackson was with him, along with Whitney, Ben, and Rand. They were all dragging ass. The injured had been flown out on another helicopter after the doctor on the Navy ship had treated them.

“You got anything planned for next week, Striker?” Jackson asked as they sat down for eggs and bacon along with pancakes served on Army trays in the mess hall. The food was much better than the dishes they were eating on, and he wasn’t disappointed, finishing every last bite.

“Nothing special.” He lied. He wasn’t ready to tell the guys how close he was to having Shannon move in with him. She was too good to be true, and he didn’t want to jinx it. He’d told Lucas, his suitemate, but that was different. Lucas had to know since someone else would be moving in with him.

Whitney and Rand laughed and made rude gestures as Jackson talked about heading out to a bar to pick up some woman to screw. He chuckled along with them though his mind was on Shannon.

“I’m looking forward to getting drunk and making bad decisions after that mission,” Whitney said.

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