Page 16 of Coming Home

True to his word, Jake stuck it out. He had come to me later that day and asked for advice. I told him to keep his head down, his mouth shut, and do whatever they said. Much to my shock, the kid actually listened.

He was my responsibility and I was supposed to be training him in my job. Turned out he was a really good shot. It took a couple tries and tweaks to compensate for wind trajectory with the sniper rifle, but he was a quick study and soon was out-shooting our backup shooter and impressing everyone.

The others wanted him out. They wanted to hate him. It only took one emergency call for Jake to earn his spot, and much to everyone’s surprise, it wasn’t as a shooter.

We’d been called in for another recon assignment. This time we were given two tickets to the opera where we needed to get in and plant bugs in two of the boxes. The guys thought it would be fun to watch Jake crash and burn. Crawley gave me the two tickets at the last minute and advised me and Jake to go in.

I tried to argue with him. This wasn’t my area of expertise by any means, but they thought the chair might give me sympathy and be an easy distraction so Jake could sneak in and place the bugs.

That’s exactly how the first box went down. I “accidently” got too close to the top of the stairs and as several people ran to assist me, it left the opening we needed. Jake was in and out almost as fast as Truman or Mike would have been.

But the interest in me had already died down by the time he reached the second box. Security stopped him, and I couldn’t exactly cause another big scene without raising suspicions. I tried to signal to Jake to abort, but he wasn’t listening. Instead, he struck up a conversation with the guard.

I couldn’t hear a word they were saying over all the chatter, but it took no time at all for him to disappear behind the curtain. He came out a few minutes later, still talking away. He shook hands with the guy and said goodbye as he casually walked back out and down the stairs, giving an imperceptible nod to me as he passed.

I moved to the elevators and followed him back down. We exited the building at different times, and Mike picked us up around the corner.

Truman was laughing his ass, off having heard everything through the wire. He went on and on about how Jake has schmoozed it up with the guy. It became the ongoing joke that Jake could talk his way out of a brown paper bag, and much to Crawley’s displeasure, Jake had quickly weaseled his way onto the team.

A week before Thanksgiving, Jake was still with us. Crawley was still bitching about it too, but the rest of the guys had accepted our human brother into the pack. He became a useful negotiator and all-around con man, which was something we never realized we were missing in our unit.

That fateful day, we were called in to assist one of the Ranger units that had come under heavy fire. Our mission was just to get them out safely. It wasn’t an uncommon order for us. We were always saving the humans’ asses; it was just part of the job.

I abandoned my chair to join, providing eyes from above. The guys on the ground were in and out quickly, with only one more soldier remaining.

Crawley went in for the last one. He was clearly injured as I watched from my scope. I scanned the area and a flash of light caught my eye. I zeroed on in on it and found the enemy quickly.

“Paper Bear, you’ve got company to the west, about twenty yards and closing in. Staying hidden so far, so keep your head down. If he comes out, I’ll take him,” I said through our private radio.

Suddenly, the guy opened fire.

“Shit! I don’t have a shot,” I yelled. “Get the hell out of there.”

Crawley was in the open, exposed. I wanted to throw up when I saw him drop the soldier he was carrying to cover him.

I fired a shot hoping to distract the shooter, but it only stalled him temporarily. He was on the move, and fast now. I could see flashes between breaks in the wall as he ran towards them. I estimated his timing and fired accordingly, but I only managed to nick the bastard.

Mike ran to intersect with his gun at the ready. Bulldog and Truman circled in from behind. Suddenly another shot rang out and I watched as Jake leapt in front of Crawley and covered them both with his body. He took a hit.

“Sniper!” I yelled, as I quickly identified his position and easily gave a kill shot. “Sniper has been terminated.”

“All clear down here,” Mike called out after taking down the lone gun on the ground.

“Jake’s been hit,” Crawley said. “Need a medic.”

“I’m fine,” Jake retorted as he stood and helped Crawley up, then assisted in carrying the wounded soldier to safety.

The mission had been sloppy, but we came out almost unscathed. Once back at camp we learned that Jake really had been shot, right in the buttcheck. It was a graze really, but after that, Crawley gave Jake the nickname of Sugar Cheeks and finally welcomed him to the family.

When a man willingly takes a gunshot for you, doesn’t much matter if he’s shifter or human, at that point he’s just a brother.

As we celebrated that night, the main phone rang. It was only used for absolute emergencies. Everyone fell quiet as Crawley answered.

“Crawley here,” he said. “Yeah. Shit. Okay. You have his flights already arranged? Well why the hell not? Have it ready by the time he gets to the airport or all hell is going to break lose. I will. Thanks.”

He hung up and turned back to us.

“Ben,” he said, and I shook my head. Whatever it was it wasn’t good, and I didn’t want to hear it. “I’m sorry, man. It’s your dad.”

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