Page 8 of Scar

And then he’d done it and had been with Delta since.

The promotion to Team Leader should have been Farmboy’s, so the decision to name Julian TL had been a shock to the entire squad. Though both Captains, Julian had only been in Delta for four years, compared to Farmboy’s decade of experience in the Agency plus his two in Delta. But not even Farmboy could deny that Julian had a skillset that none of the rest of them had, and that was the ability to get in and out of anywhere without being noticed.

Despite the early hour and the blazing Afghani sun, they were running in full gear today, which meant that he needed to ensure there was nothing on him that could make a sound. As far as anyone else knew at the base, Julian’s team was just another squad. They were no one special, just seven soldiers of fourteen thousand in the region.

Soon to be eight.

Unlike other Special Forces teams, Delta did not wear insignia. Rangers, Green Berets, SEALs, AFSO, Recon… They were all unique and had their own skill sets, but they were notDelta Force. They blended in with the masses, like a tiger in the foliage, and then they struck.

There was a reason Delta Force had the highest dropout rating of any Special Operations Training. Nine out of ten did not make it to Graduation Day, which made that moment when they got their papers all the more tremendous.

After Julian had gotten his command, he’d named Farmboy as his NT, or Number Two. Within the team, Julian could have named any of them regardless of rank. Farmboy was the most experienced and was never afraid to speak his mind. Julian wanted Farmboy to not only be his voice of reason but also play devil’s advocate.

Ryder Whitney and Julian had gone through SOT together. Unlike Whitney, or Patriot, Julian had worked his ass off to get his college degree while still at basic, so when he applied for SOT, he would be doing so as an officer. Patriot was a good guy, but he wasn’t José. Julian’s best friend was also stationed in the Middle East, but his base was further east towards Kandahar. José’s ambition had beenboots on the ground, whereas Julian’s was to be better than the best.

Edward Riverton fuckinghatedhis moniker. Problem was, the man had an issue keeping it in his pants. Rumor had it, the night before he’d started SOT, he’d been caught at a strip joint with a hooker named Bella. Some asshole had made the connection between the names ‘Edward’ and ‘Bella’ and Riverton had been known as ‘Sparkles’ ever since. The man might be a whoremonger, but he was a damn fine operator.

Then there was Jean-Pierre Bergeron, or Cajun. If there was one operator that Julian wanted to always have at his back, it was Cajun. The native Louisianan was fucking creepy. He knew when something was going to happen before it happened. Julian did not believe in the supernatural but fuck if he didn’t believed in Cajun. The man always knew when they were going to roll out and to where before they even got their orders. And bonus, the man made the fuckingspiciestshrimp creole Julian had ever put in his mouth. Occasionally, he’d burp and still swear he could taste hot peppers.

Chris Knowles had not always been known as ‘Lamb Chop’. His moniker had been changed after he’d saved a lamb from being shot during a firefight at the start of the year. The fact that he’d somehow gotten permission to take that lambhomeand it was now his daughter’s pet had earned him the change in call signs.

St. Nick was at the bottom of the food chain, which was probably why he was so excited to hear that they were getting a new rookie. Tomlan Kringle looked nothing like Santa Claus. His moniker might be a play on his last name, but the guy looked more like Chris Hemsworth than jolly ol’ St. Nicholas. He was also the team’s medic.

Julian stood, shouldering his pack. “I heard. His bird will be arriving at oh-two-forty.”

“Whose bird?” Sparkles asked as he approached. His pack was already on his back and he looked far too cheery before a ten mile run in full gear.

“We’re getting new boots,” St. Nick told Sparkles.

“Aw,” Sparkles nudged St. Nick’s shoulder. “We’re getting a baby brother. That’s so cute.” He looked to Julian. “Don’t worry, Daddy. We’ll take care of the little tyke. Teach him our ways.”

“Your ‘ways’,” Julian mocked, “usually end with you at the medical tent getting an STD treated.”

Sparkles waggled his eyebrows. “Exactly.”

The others neared. Farmboy and Patriot were arguing about some football game that was happening in the States. Julian liked football fine, but Patriot took his fandom to a whole new level. Hence his moniker. Personally, it was a distraction when Julian was in-country. He didn’t like to think about home because it made him nostalgic. Cajun and Lamb Chop were walking next to each other, but they were both quiet. Lamb Chop’s daughter’s third birthday was the day before and he was feeling morose at having missed the special occasion.

Julian felt sorry for his brother, but that was the way of their world. Uncle Sam said ‘jump’ and they saluted ‘Sir, yes, Sir!’ while jumping without asking how high.

Julian waited for them all to circle up before he spoke. “Ten miles. If any of your packs make so much as a jingle, it’ll be fifteen.” Julian was about to order them to move out when Cajun’s dark eyes suddenly looked up. Though it was morning, Julian would swear under oath that the man was reading the stars. “What is it, Cajun?”

“New bood’s ’ere just in dime, Solo. We rollin’ oud tomorrow.”

Julian didn’t doubt it. “Is the rookie why you look like you’re about to bend over for round two?”

Cajun’s eyes never left the skies as he said, “Some’ding is gave me the frissons, bossman. We shoudna go.”

Julian had never known Cajun to run scared and the fact that he sensed something was up also gave Julian the chills. But it wasn’t like they could pick and choose what orders to follow. “We’re Delta, Cajun. We always go.” Louder, before Cajun’s prediction could permeate into unrest among the others, Julian shouted, “Move out!”

They weren’t even a few feet from their starting place when St. Nick’s bag started to jingle.

“Oh, come on, guys! Why is it alwaysme?”

CHAPTER3

PRESENT DAY

Getting out of Washington, D.C., proved more challenging than Scar had hoped. He was so fucking tired. Not enough to fall asleep at the wheel or to pull over and take a nap. He couldn’t have done that even if he’d tried. It was a bone-dead tiredness that made it difficult to move his limbs.

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