“PMCs are different than the service, son. I don’t give a fuck what a person’s gender or sexual orientation is. If they can do the fucking job, are loyal and trustworthy…well, then they get the job.”
I did a double take at the sexual orientation comment. So Foster had shared it with his dad. I didn’t know if I should be pissed or not, but I didn’t have time for stupid shit that didn’t seem to matter at the moment. Had Foster taken a risk? Yes, but he’d probably known his dad wouldn’t care.
Heidi gave Foster a scathing glare and stepped toward us with her hand outstretched.
“Hello, everyone. I’m Heidi Holt. The admiral is my uncle, which makes me and Foster cousins. I’m trained in numerous languages and martial arts, and I’m a crack shot. I’ll be tagging along to make sure you have everything you need since, technically, y’all are on leave.” She turned that fiery gaze back to Foster. “Which should keep the overprotective asshole on the team happy, even though I’ve been outside the wire and in more firefights than I care to remember.”
A laugh bubbled within me. I struggled to keep it in. My lips twitched with the effort.
“So,” I said before clearing my throat. “Um…you have some big shoes to fill. Our Logistics Specialist is a wizard. He can find anything we need at the drop of a hat.”
She laughed. “Son, never send a man to do a job when you have a Holt woman available. We’re miracle workers.” She turned to the table in the middle of the room. “In all seriousness, if you need something that you didn’t bring with you, let me know. We have an armory and a uniform closet on site. If you need it, we should have it, and if not, I will get it while we’re en route.”
A little over an hour later, the seven of us, along with five members of Holt Industries, were airborne and headed to Afghanistan, riding as straps on a C-130. I wasn’t sure how the admiral had arranged the flight for his PMCs, and with us all being on leave, but I wasn’t going to second-guess the man when he was getting results.
I settled back into my seat. I’d forgotten how uncomfortable this shit could be, but my heart felt a little lighter just knowing I was heading back to get Adam. I closed my eyes and did that thing we SEALs were known for. I fell asleep pretty much on command. It didn’t hurt that I’d not been sleeping over the last few weeks.
I popped awake when someone leaned over me, giving me a gentle shake. I came back to life like someone had flipped the “on” switch.
“We’re getting ready to land,” Foster said.
His face was grim, his posture stiff and filled with tension.
Fuck! The suck just exploded.
CHAPTER 13
ADAM
SUMMER 2009
I armedmyself to the teeth with everything I could possibly carry. I missed my gear, some of which Brock had customized for me since no one made it the way I wanted it. He’d done the same shit for himself and several other team guys. Having shit readily available made the job so fucking much easier.
Looking around the room, I tried finding a phone, and that was when I noticed it—my gear. I grinned like the fucking Cheshire Cat. My face stretched as I grabbed my pack and weapons. My pants and boots were tossed in the corner, where I’d found my pack. I shoved them into the bag with all the ammo and explosives I’d confiscated, and I slung the bag and sniper rifle over my shoulder. I clutched my M4 and headed back the way I came.
At the door, I turned to the right. At the end of the corridor, there was a door. It was a rickety mishmash of boards haphazardly nailed together. Nothing could be heard from the other side, but opening that door was a risk. Not opening it was also a risk.
Steeling myself, I cracked the door and took a peek. Elation filled me. It was dark out. I pushed the door open and stepped into the world, shutting it behind me. I thanked God I’d found my gear. I just hoped my goggles still worked.
I slipped the helmet on, flipping the goggles down. I flicked them on and cursed. The batteries were dead.
Motherfucker! Time to embrace the suck.
I flipped the goggles up, sneaking through the shadows along the walls. I made my way around the buildings toward the dog crates. I had to check. As dangerous as it was, I refused to leave anyone behind if it was in my power to help them.
Watching the surroundings, I crept from the shadows, quickly making my way toward the boxes. I bit back a curse when I got there. They were padlocked. There was no way I could open them.
“Min fadlik la,” a whispered plea came in Arabic.
The voice was weak and listless as the man saidplease, no, begging for mercy.
I didn’t respond. I didn’t want to give anyone false hope, and that was all I could give at this point. I swept the area, noticing six more cages. I checked them all. All but one was padlocked. Pleas for help and mercy came from each of them, but the unlocked one? That one must’ve been mine.
Fuck that shit. I don’t own a fucking human-sized dog cage!
I moved on. The fence was just behind the crates. When I got there, I hid behind an armored pickup truck with a gun mounted in the back. What I wouldn’t have given to take that with me! That and the people locked in those cages.
Don’t dwell on shit you cannot fix. Embrace the suck and move on!
