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  Dedication

  For all the four-legged members of the special forces who charge into danger and save countless lives.

  They are the unsung heroes…

  PART ONE

  Chapter 1

  Syria sucks.

  Even in the middle of the night, the air was thick with dust. The shit was everywhere. Hair, clothes, mouth, eyes. Film coated the throat and no amount of water could wash away. The place was a wasteland.

  Especially since ISIS made damn near every region of the country a warzone.

  Conrad Matthews loved being a member of the elite 1/75th Ranger Battalion. The special operations regiment fed his thirst for living on the razor’s edge. Going on missions supplied adrenaline in the same way drugs fed an addict. The chaos. The rush. The brotherhood.

  He adjusted his utility vest and cracked his neck. This was the third kill-or-capture mission in six days. Dread grasped his shoulders like the hand of the grim reaper. He couldn’t shake free. So far, the team had been lucky. No injuries. No loss of life.

  Which meant they were primed for disaster.

  And Conrad was sure he had a target on his back. Short-timers jinx. A longstanding superstition that the closer one got to leaving, the greater the chance of arriving horizontally. Stretcher or box. Conrad had known a few guys who had either been seriously injured or died within a month of the end of their deployment.

  Conrad had eight weeks.

  He glanced at the man sitting across from him in the strike vehicle. Billy Lewis—Kidd to everyone on the team—mopped his brow. He had four weeks. Was as nervous as a hooker in a confessional. Conrad didn’t envy the man.

  The call came over comms that they were ten minutes out. Conrad ran through his blindfold test, his hands lighting on each object.

  Infrared strobe

  Secondary weapon—Sig Sauer P226

  Ammo pouches for primary weapon and secondary weapon

  Knife

  Frag grenades

  Flash bangs

  He double-checked the lead clipped to his belt. Georgie, his three-year-old Belgian Malanois lifted her head and stared at him. Groaning, she rested her snout on her front paws and closed her eyes. Clearly, she was exasperated with his doom-and-gloom prophecies. He’d never aired his concerns to his teammates, but Georgie knew. She picked up on his moods. The relationship between canine and handler was unique.

  Georgie was a physical extension of Conrad.

  “Three minutes out,” the voice came over comms. The men took a knee and prepared to move out. Conrad readied his HK 416 assault rifle, and adjusted his night vision goggles. Georgie sat beside him. Each man in the unit patted her back. She was their mascot—well, one of them. The first to go into danger—and the men knew she had saved their lives on many missions.

  Conrad rubbed her head, and she leaned into his hand. He knew she would follow any command he gave her. He trusted her with his life. And the lives of every man in the battalion.

  The door to the back of the ALSV opened. The sign for go had them on their feet, pounding the hard, dry earth. The house they were clearing was dilapidated from earlier conflicts. A six-foot wall surrounded the house, but large sections had collapsed. Positioning themselves around the perimeter, they waited for the command to breach the wall and enter the house.

  “Come out,” Kidd called out over the bullhorn.

  Silence.

  Kidd tried again, but the house appeared deserted. Conrad knew from experience that not much was as it appeared in this region of the world. They couldn’t take that chance. Insurgents had been trying to reestablish a foothold in the small southern Syrian town since the Rangers had run ISIS out a few months earlier. Time was of the essence, and it wouldn’t take long for one cockroach to turn into ten, and pretty soon, there’s a goddam infestation.

  Kidd motioned for Conrad to come up beside him. “Time for Georgie to use that million-dollar nose and sniff out some bad guys,” he said.

  “Roger,” Conrad said, and knelt beside the dog. She sat perfectly still, her entire body on high alert for anything that moved inside the walls of the small compound. Another man, Adam Letz, tossed a flash bang grenade through one of the broken-out front windows. Conrad covered his ears.

  One thousand one…one thousand two…one thousand three…

  An astonishingly loud bang rocked the wall where they crouched. The night sky lit up from the blinding flash of light. Flash bangs were the perfect non-lethal advantage they had. Temporarily disorienting anyone that might be in the house.

  Whispers emanated from the interior of the house, barely audible, like the sound of the wind. Conrad strained to hear what was being said. Not English. Arabic. Conrad didn’t know what was being said, but he doubted it was an agreement to surrender.

  “Find,” Conrad commanded Georgie.

  The dog took off running without a single hesitation. Conrad ran after her, but there was no way he would ever be able to keep up with her. He tried to keep her in his sights as they entered the house. She charged straight through the house to the back, and down a set of stairs, as if she were intimately familiar with the place.

  She’s onto something…or someone.

  Kidd was barking out orders over comms. “Three on this level, three on the upper floor, Conrad, Georgie and I will be on the sub-level.” Both men pounded down the rickety wood stairs. Any minute, Conrad expected one of the risers to snap, and his foot to go through. The stairs held, but probably wouldn’t hold many more men of their size and weight without giving out.

  Georgie bolted through a narrow opening, down a tunnel. Wrestling sounds filled the small space. Growls followed by male screams. The tunnel opened into a small clearing. Conrad skidded to a halt.

  A man writhed and squirmed on the ground. Georgie’s teeth sunk into the man’s back just below the shoulder blade. He thrashed about. His arms flapped wildly. But to no avail. Georgie clamped down on him until ordered to release.

  Approaching the man from behind, Kidd secured his arms. Conrad grasped the sides of Georgie’s vest. “Release,” he said. Her jaw slackened, but the teeth remained imbedded. Conrad lifted her up to unhook her from the man’s shoulder. Setting her on the ground, Conrad checked her over for any visible injuries, then patted her head.

  “Good girl, Georgie. Good girl.”

  Kidd grunted. Behind him Conrad heard sounds of a scuffle. He turned to see what was happening. A long silver blade gleamed in the insurgent’s hand. He swung his arm down. Kidd thrust his hand in front of his face, blocking the knife. The blade sliced his hand.

  Georgie let out a deep growl. Her bark reverberated through the cavern.

  “Go,” Conrad commanded, and released the dog. She took two steps and launched from her haunches. The insurgent turned, eyes wide when he saw Georgie flying through the air toward him.

  Mouth wide open. Teeth bared. Georgie chomped down on the man’s throat. Blood spurted like a punctured hose. The man collapsed. Blood pooled around him

  Conrad rushed over to Kidd. “How bad?”

  “Bleeder,” he answered, cradling his hand. Blood dripped onto the dirt. “But I don’t think it caused any real damage.”

  Conrad pushed on the man’s shoulders, forcing him to sit on the ground before he passed out. He walked over to the
dead insurgent, and once again pulled Georgie from her mark.

  “Good girl,” he commended her, and scrubbed the top of her head. “Kill a terrorist, get a steak dinner.”

  “On me,” Kidd added. “The least I can do since she saved my life.”

  Conrad pulled his med kit from the cargo pocket on his thigh, and popped it open. Pouring water from his canteen over Kidd’s hand, he wiped away the remaining blood, and wrapped the hand in gauze. He didn’t need to see the injury. He just knew it was still bleeding profusely. Conrad had neither the equipment, knowledge, nor skill to help his brother. All he could do was get him out of the hellhole and back to the base.

  The doctors at the CaSH could fix him up.

  Chapter 2

  Julie pulled open the drawer and counted the number of bottles of Morphine. Nineteen. She checked her sheet. Two bottles missing since yesterday. What had happened yesterday? Had someone come in that required morphine? No one had come into the combat support hospital with injuries that required the drug—that she was aware of, anyway. She’d have to talk to the corpsman and see if he had dispensed any without her knowledge. Missing medication was bad. It required reports to be made, questions to be asked, and people crawling up her ass.

  Four weeks and home.

  She repeated the mantra over and over, hoping it would soothe her rattled nerves. She had one more month left on her deployment with the Army reserve unit, then she’d be out. Back home to her small practice in the pocket community of Eagle Rock, Montana. Where treating the flu, removing fishhooks from hands, and setting broken bones was the biggest emergencies of her day. No gunshot wounds, dismembered limbs, or any other types of injuries war could inflict on the human body.

  Eagle Rock was quiet. Nestled in the mountains. Not much happened there. Of course, that was part of the reason she had joined the reserves—to use her medical degree for something other than well-baby checks and arthritis prevention. She wanted excitement. But had no idea what she had gotten herself into until she stepped into the ungodly desert heat of Syria. The constant sounds of guns and bombs had unnerved her, at first, but she eventually learned to tune it out—to a certain extent, anyway. But the screams of dying men haunted her sleep.

  She glanced at the man across the room and smiled. Not everything in Syria had been bad. She’d made friends with people she never would’ve been able to meet if she hadn’t become a reserve doctor. People like Marwan Betesh, a Syrian who was studying to become a doctor. Julie had met his wife and daughter, and been welcomed into their home. She loved being able to provide training to the man who would not have been able to otherwise.

  As part of an ongoing attempt to get the locals to accept and work with the U.S. military and government officials at the compound—and reject the constant recruitment of ISIS—Betesh had been vetted and granted an opportunity to be a resident at the military field hospital.

  “How’s Yana?” Julie asked him.

  The man swiveled around in his chair, his face beaming at the mention of his ten-year-old daughter. “She is well, thank you for asking.”

  “Her studies are coming along?”

  He nodded. “Yes, she is having little set-back at moment, but I believe she will be back on road soon.”

  Julie chuckled. While Betesh’s English was very good, he still had trouble with American slang. “On track,” she corrected. “Why the setback?”

  Betesh looked down at his inventory sheet. “Just cold virus that won’t go away. She is fatigued—try to get her to concentrate on school work is challenge.”

  “How long has she had the virus?” Julie asked.

  “She is coughing and light-headed for almost two week now.”

  Okay, Julie thought, not unusual for a cold to stick around longer than ten days. “Well, if she doesn’t get back to normal in the next few days, let me know. I can come out and take a look at her.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Julie. I very much appreciate.”

  The doors to the exam room burst open, and two men came in.

  “Jesus—you can’t just come in here. You need to see the corpsman out front,” Julie said.

  “Sorry, Doc, no one was there, and my buddy has been bleeding for about 20 minutes,” said one of the men. He was covered in dirt, but Julie could tell by the uniform he was a Ranger. Most likely returning from an op.

  The other man held his hand against his body. Blood drenched a gauze dressing wrapped around the hand.

  Julie grabbed a pair of surgical gloves and snapped them on. “Get him up on the table,” she instructed. She put her hand on the injured man’s shoulder. “What’s your name?”

  “Kidd,” said the other man.

  Julie bristled. There was a reason she asked the patient easy questions. See if they were able to recall the information. If he struggled with something as simple as his name, that potentially pointed to a head injury among other things. She glanced at the man who answered the questions. Tall, muscular, basically every Ranger on the compound. “And your name?”

  “Conrad,” he said, looking down at the floor next to him. “And this is Georgie.”

  Sitting next to Conrad was a dirt-encrusted dog.

  “Well, Conrad, thanks for your help. Now, if you wouldn’t mind taking yourself and your dog out of here so I can examine my patient, I would really appreciate it.” She turned away, and focused on her patient. Betesh was busy removing the gauze.

  “Actually, I would mind,” Conrad said behind her. “I’m here to make sure he’s going to be okay.”

  Julie stilled for a moment, not sure she actually heard correctly. She glanced over her shoulder, expecting a smug smile at his cute little joke. Instead, he stood with his legs apart, arms tight across his chest, scowl across his face.

  What the hell? No one disobeyed an order from her, especially not in her clinic. Where the hell did this guy get off?

  “I can assure you your buddy is in excellent hands,” she said. Her jaw tightened, and made it nearly impossible to speak.

  “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll stick around.”

  Julie spun around and faced the man, peering at the rank on his collar. Enlisted. Julie was an officer. She outranked him. Not that it mattered. In the CaSH, she was in charge, regardless of rank. Inhaling deeply, she fought to get her anger under wraps.

  “Sergeant, I understand you want to support your friend, but if you don’t take that dog and get your ass out of my examination room, I’ll have you escorted out. Then you can explain to your CO why you disobeyed a direct order from an officer. Then, I will have you brought up on charges of insubordination. Have I made myself clear?”

  The sergeant’s eyes darkened. The muscles in his neck twitched and the veins pulsed. “Crystal, ma’am,” he said through clenched teeth. Glancing at his buddy lying on the table, he gave a head nod. “I’ll check on you later, Kidd.” When he reached the door, he glanced back at Julie.

  “Have a great day, Doc. It was a pleasure.” He winked and walked through the door.

  Rage lit a path up her spine, and nearly made her head explode.

  The insolent little shit!

  Inhaling slowly through her nose, she attempted to calm herself down. No one wanted a seething doctor treating him. She closed her eyes, counted to ten, and focused on the task ahead. “Okay…Kidd, is it?” she smiled. “Tell me what happened.”

  Kidd explained being too close to a knife-wielding insurgent. Betesh had managed to staunch the bleeding, and was busy cleaning the wound so Julie could get a better idea what they were dealing with.

  “Let’s take a look.” Identical gashes split the skin and muscle between the finger bones. “Looks like a pretty clean through-and-through. No damage to bone that I can tell, but it will require a few stitches.”

  “My wife is going to kill me when I get off the plane,” he answered. “I promised no more scars.”

  Julie chuckled and picked up a pair of surgical scissors and a curved needle with suture string
attached. “Scarring should be minimal—but more pronounced on the back of the hand. Do you want anything to numb the area before I start stitching?” Kidd shook his head, so she placed the needle through the skin and pulled it tight until both edges of the wound met. “How much longer until you get to go home?”

  “One month.”

  “Do you have kids?” In her experience, the best way to reduce anxiety that could cause muscle contractions was to get him talking. She made a loop with the string and moved down the incision until the wound was closed. Then she flipped his hand over and started on the inner hand.

  “I have a five-year-old son, just started kindergarten,” he said. “And my wife is expecting our second child.”

  Julie tied a knot in the string, and covered it with a bandage. “Five stitches on the inside of your hand, eight on the backside. Try to keep it clean and dry for the next couple of days. Come back in a couple of weeks and I can remove them. If you decide to do that on your own, just make sure the stitches are ready to come out—don’t require hard yanking—or you will scar.”

  She took a small empty pharmaceutical bottle from the storage cabinet. “When is your wife due?”

  “About the same time I’m heading back.”

  She glanced at him. “Cutting it kind of close, huh?” She counted out the pills and slipped them into the bottle.

  Kidd snorted. “We’re just hoping to hell she holds out until I can get there.”

  Julie handed him the medication. “Low dosage painkillers. If you find you need something stronger, just come back in and I’ll up the dosage.”

  “Thanks, Doc.” Kidd slid off the table. “And about Conrad—he meant no disrespect. He knows how anxious I am to get back home, and he was just looking out for me. He’s a good guy.”

  Julie forced a smile. “I understand. No hard feelings.” She reached her hand out and he shook it awkwardly with his good hand. “Take care, and congratulations on becoming a father again. I hope you make it back in time for the birth.”

  “That makes two of us, Doc.” Kidd turned and walked out the door. Julie watched the door swing as he left, and sent up a prayer that Kidd made it home without any other injuries—or in a box.