Page 207 of The Archer Brothers

“Holy fuck,” I say, with my hand over my heart. “What the fuck are you guys doing?”

My spotter, Carl Poole, aka Texas, comes forward and hugs me. “Man, I fucking missed the shit out of you.” After Ryley’s accident, I decided to take my leave. I told Texas he needed to stay away and keep his wits about himself because some shit was going down, and I didn’t want him caught in the crossfire. In fact, I told my whole team to stay away from me, just in case.

“How’s it going?”

“Shit’s good,” he says. Tex steps aside, and I greet the other members of my team. Rask steps forward, and I look at him suspiciously. He gives me a hug and whispers, “New assignment.”

All right, Command. We see you.

We part, and I pretend like I haven’t seen him in months, not days. “Last I heard, you were slumming it with the enlisted. What happened?”

Rask shrugs. “McCoy kicked my ass on the training course, so I had to prove I still got it. Picked up this assignment.”

I pat him on the shoulder. “Happy to have you.” Happy is an understatement. He’s literally the only person here I trust. I trust Tex, but it’s hard to know what lines they’ve been fed when you haven't seen someone in almost a year.

Aside from Rask and Tex, my former and now teammates again come up and greet me. Mark “the Commissioner” Stern, Scott “Harv” Harvey, George “Faith” Shaffer, and Brian “Rooney” Rourke. When it came to handing out nicknames, some of these guys ended up with the bad hand except for Mark and George. According to Mark, he got his nickname from the former NBA commissioner David Stern—they’re not related. And George, well, he’s a George Michael fan and our preacher man, so Faith fits him. Carl got his name Texas because that’s where he's from, and Justin’s name is his last name. Not sure why he didn’t get stuck with something else, but he’s like me. I prefer my last name. One time, Tex tried to stick me with ‘snake’ because of my stealthy maneuvers, and I balked. It’s not me. Archer or Nate work just fine. Besides, the only time we really use nicknames is when we’re out in the field or on a mission, and we want to remain anonymous.

I head to my locker and stare at the combination lock on it. For the life of me, I don’t remember the numbers needed to get into it. “Shit,” I mutter. Everyone around me laughs. “Yep, real funny, guys.”

“Here, let me.” George steps in front of me with some bolt cutters and instantly takes care of the lock. Now, I have to go to the store to buy a new one. Lovely. It’s terrible when one problem creates another.

“What’s on the agenda for today?” I ask as I store my bag in my shed.

“Well, we figured you haven’t done any exercising since you’ve been gone, so we’re going to head out for a soft run,” Mark says.

Oh boy.

“Or, we can start with a swim,” Scott offers.

“And I get to choose?” I ask them. Everyone nods except Rask. I glance at him, and he shrugs.

“I don’t care what we do. I need to get into shape, so I can kick McCoy’s ass later.”

“All right, then. Swim first, run later.”

There are a couple of groans, but that’s to be expected. I think most of the guys wanted to do one or the other, not both. I’m sure when we get back, we’ll have some practice simulations to run through. It’s not like we sit around and count ammo all day long.

We only get our two-mile swim in, when I’m called to Command’s office. Honestly, I expected this to happen as soon as I checked in today. I change back into my uniform and head to the commander’s office. His name is in black vinyl across his door, and the sight of it makes my stomach turn. Not because I don’t like the guy, because his allegiance isn’t going to be me, but to the brass. I tap my knuckles under his name, Adam Peterson.

“Enter.”

“Sir,” I say as I stand there, with my hands behind my back. I don’t make eye contact or even look in his direction. He stands and motions for me to follow him. We end up outside and walk across the street from our compound.

“I’m not privy to much, but I’ve picked up a few bits and pieces over the past few months. A lot of people are upset with your sister-in-law for the lawsuit against the Navy, as well as the charges brought against Admiral Ingram.”

I want to point out that Ingram lost every title he’s earned over the years, and he’s nothing but a civilian, but I keep my mouth shut.

“However, I am not one of those people.” He turns and looks at me. “There’s a lot of higher-ups who don’t want you back here, and that is a red flag for me. Your service record is impeccable, so I can’t understand why they wouldn’t want a highly trained sniper protecting our country. But you and I both know why or at least suspect we do, right?”

I nod.

“Keep your head down, Archer. Don’t give anyone an excuse to discharge you.”

“I won’t, sir. But, if I may,” I pause and wait for the go-ahead from him. “Do you think it’s in my team’s best interest if I step away from active duty? I don’t want my presence to affect them.”

“It won’t. This is business as usual. Your team has six weeks to get ready, and then you’re back in the rotation.” He pats me on the shoulder and walks back toward his office. I look around, trying to see if anyone listened to us, but no one seems to pay me any attention.

The one thing I hoped—to keep my boots on the ground—isn’t going to happen. They’re going to send me out, and I can only hope I come back alive.

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