“Fuck me, the intel is fucking wrong,” Blaze said into the mic.
I nodded, pressed my comms link, and whispered, “Been wrong before.”
Kink spoke then, “Fuck ‘em.”
Piston snorted into his mic, “Fuck ‘em indeed.”
“Fuck ‘em indeed. Boys, let’s bring on the rain,” I said.
And we did.
Herface was on my mind the entire time, guiding me home.
***
Sadly... we should have listened to Blaze.
None of us knew the path for our extraction was littered with IEDs.
Year Five - Age 28
Five months of physical therapy.
One hundred and fifty-two nights of waking up in a cold sweat.
One hundred and fifty-two days of keeping one pair of eyes at the forefront of my mind.
One hundred and fifty-three days down, knowing the world lost four incredible people.
And an umpteen number of days left of this life I was supposed to live.
***
They handed me my discharge papers.
I loaded my things in my truck and headedhome.
***
I parked my truck outside her apartment, where she’d just moved after securing her job forty-five minutes from the clubhouse.
Year Six - Age 29
I wasn’t a man known for his good intentions.
What I was known for... was not giving a fuck about anyone or anything.
Or so everyone knew.
Four floors up.
Fourth window to the right, I breathed in and out four times, and then the light flicked on.
She was home.
She was safe.
Now, it was time for me to go to work.
