Page 99 of Unmade

The Hillcroft operators’ combat outfits consisted of utility pants with multiple pockets, same kind I wore, long-sleeved tees, helmets, and Kevlar vests—all stripped-down versions of what service members wore in combat. Crew’s clothes were similar, except I could see he was from another agency. His helmet and vest had a lighter camo pattern. I’d heard of JATE Shield before. It was based in LA, if I wasn’t mistaken. They handled primarily domestic cases, while Hillcroft worked mostly internationally.

Not counting today. The past few weeks had been full of exceptions, I was learning. Hillcroft was almost never attacked, they said. Well, now we’d faced two of them in a short period of time.

I did my best to pay attention. I wanted to learn everything.

The Juniors were busy collecting information from whoever was communicating in their ears, and they moved red pins on the map. Coach was in a pissy mood and talking to someone about moving farther into the forest, because apparently it was going to be a waiting game now. We couldn’t make another move until it was dark.

That was going to be a problem for me.

I went over to Crew. “Excuse me. Is there any way to get my hands on an energy bar or something? Or should I be prepared for a suck-it-and-deal combo with extra French cries?”

“Ha!” He found that funny. “Extra French cries—I’m using that. There will be chow later, but in the meantime…” Then he retrieved something from a pocket, a protein bar, and handed it to me. “I gotchu covered.”

“Thanks.” I was so relieved. I let out a breath and tore it open. “I don’t function well without food. That’s when I mix up yards, feet, and meters until I walk myself right into enemy camp.”

I’d had a Drill in OSUT who yelled in my face that I had to learn them all, and then he got them mixed up himself.

“Dude, same.” Crew scratched his nose. “Which is why you should always carry a bar or two in your pockets. I carry four.”

I nodded and bit into the chocolaty bar. Good point. I was gonna do that. “I’ll turn one of my pockets into a DFAC.” Only, with edible food.

Crew snorted. “Army?”

I nodded and chewed.

“Zero movement from outside the bunker,” Operator Williams reported. “Hyatt’s calling in reinforcements to give us eyes in the sky along the outer rim too, and Squeezy’s joined the Intel unit with River remotely. Remember, she’ll only be verbal with Ryan and River.”

I took another bite of the protein bar and turned to Crew. “Do you know who’s in charge of this whole thing? Is it Operator Beckett?”

“He’s in charge on the ground,” he replied. “But they have Operator Adler running the show from the Operations Central. She’s the one who called me in yesterday morning when they learned about the second Hahn crew on US soil. Then, you know, with the operation growing, she brings in more consultants. I heard Operator Payne and the other Tenley twin on the line earlier. Operator Hyatt, in turn, is in charge of the drones, so he’s in the mix too.”

Jesus H. Christmas. “That’s too many cooks in the kitchen for me. I’d be dizzy hearing all the noise.”

I guessed it meant Hyatt was no longer filling in for Beckett in the schoolhouse.

“Yeah, it’s difficult to masturbate to.”

I smirked and tilted my head. “Marines?”

He grinned lazily, and we bumped fists.

“Pardon my boot question. What was your MOS?” I asked.

“Started out as a 0311 like most, and then I reclassed when I made Recon,” he said. “Got my jump wings and spent way too much time at Army installations since I just had to pick the smallest fuckin’ branch in the country, and then I found my specialty in logistics and pathfinding.”

Oh damn. That was impressive. Even more so because of the branch. The Marines, as far as I knew, didn’t have units on that level with just one specialty. You couldn’t be just a parachutist or a pathfinder.

I’d worked with more Marines than any other branch. They were our brothers.

“What about you?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Lowly infantry. Never advanced. Never saw combat.”

“You say lowly a lot,” he noted. “My kid brother’s part of the peacetime generation too. It ain’t nothin’, you know. Someone’s gotta hold the fort until the next war. Besides, when shit hits the fan—and it will—you’ll quit bitching about custom insoles and grooming regs real quick.”

I laughed, because that hit home in a tragic way. I’d overheard so many complaints about bullshit issues like that.

“Well, not me, personally,” I said. “Now I’m chasing Germans in the woods of Virginia. And here I was, thinking Germans weren’t our enemies anymore.”

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