Never Forget: A Novella in the Echo Platoon Series Read Free Page B

voice. “What about Draco. Was he hurt?”
    “He was caught at the edge of the blast. It concussed him but he’s okay now, as you can hear.”
    What Rusty heard was sixty pounds of frustration. He so did not need a dog right now. But Sergeant Mata’s expression spoke of sheer dread at the thought of returning Draco to wherever they’d come from—all the way from Lackland? What’s more Rusty made a point of honoring his obligations. He couldn’t back out on this one, just because the timing wasn’t great.
    “I guess he’s my dog, then.” Resignation vied with a tingle of excitement. “Go ahead and bring him in.”
    The relief that lit up the sergeant’s face assured Rusty that he’d done the right thing. He stepped out onto the veranda, watching while the sergeant went back to the SUV and opened the rear hatch. The dog was obviously crated inside. Mata reached in to unlatch the crate, and a tornado exploded out of the SUV, sailing over the man’s shoulder and landing in the driveway where it took off like a shot for the tree line.
    “Draco!” Mata yelled, watching him go while holding an empty leash in his hands.
    Ho, boy.
    It’d been four years since Rusty had watched Nichols work with the dog, but he distinctly remembered the way the handler called him. Good thing Rusty could whistle the same way.
    The instant his high-pitched, lilting call carried across the yard, the dog screeched to a halt, lifted his leg on a bush, then trotted steadily toward Rusty, his gaze watchful, tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.
    At the bottom of the steps, the dog abruptly halted, staring up at him and panting hard.
    Rusty squatted and held out a hand. “Hey, Draco,” he crooned. “Remember me, buddy?”
    The dog’s tall, pointed ears swiveled in his direction. He closed his mouth to scent the air. Sergeant Mata had frozen, watching with a hopeful expression.
    Returning the intelligent brown gaze of the dog resembling a small German Shepherd, Rusty was struck by how war had aged the animal. His coat was still more black than caramel. The eyebrows that looked painted-on still gave him an expressive appearance. But a hint of silver lightened his dark muzzle, and the wild look in his eyes reminded Rusty of the way veteran SEALs looked fresh off the battlefield.
    Hell, he’d seen that look staring back at him in a bathroom mirror.
    Draco needed this place as much as the next war-weary operator.
    “It’s me, Draco. Hier, ” he said, calling him over with the Dutch command Nichols had used.
    The dog’s eyes turned liquid. His ears flattened. Breathing fast, he padded up the steps to bump Rusty’s outstretched hand while sniffing him. Suddenly, his whole body began to wag. Rearing up on his hind legs, he planted his forepaws on Rusty’s shoulders and knocked him off his feet, pinning him flat on the porch while licking his face in delighted recognition.
    “I think he remembers you,” Sergeant Mata drawled, having made his way closer.
    The urge to laugh tightened Rusty’s vocal cords. He wanted to wrestle with the dog, show him who was alpha, except he didn’t trust the dog not to bite. Better to build up the bonds of trust first.
    “ Los ,” he said, ordering the dog to release him. Squirming out from under him, he grabbed Draco’s collar and clambered to his feet. “Better come inside,” he said to the sergeant, “if you want me to sign that paperwork.”
    *
    R USTY SLIT HIS eyes open in order to read the clock beside his bed. It was two in the morning, and this was the third time he’d been wakened, this time by an unidentifiable noise.
    At twenty-one hundred, he’d put Draco in the barn for the night, but the dog hadn’t stayed there. Incessant barking had seen him transferred almost immediately to the house. Rusty had shut him up in the bathroom downstairs, where barking had turned into howling.
    He’d then brought the dog upstairs and put him inside his closet. Draco had fallen silent, seemingly