Whole Pieces Read Free Page B

mission.
    â€œTwenty-two hundred,” McLellan muttered to no one in particular. Darkness pulled back the veil. Stars sprinkled across the sky. Late winter had a stranglehold on the cold weather, unwilling to release it from servitude.
    Six hours thirty-five minutes.
    For Hawk, it felt like eternity.
    I can do this. I can. Save them. Give them back to their families. It was his fault in the first place, not killing that kid. He wouldn’t make that mistake this time. The eldest of eight kids, Hawk had younger siblings. He loved them. Loved kids. But he’d tried it the nice way once. And his team died.
    Wouldn’t happen again.
    His hand went to his leg pocket to reassure himself it was still there. That Constant hadn’t come for it—or him.
    He ran his fingertips over the hard circular shape beneath the ACU material. No, that kid wouldn’t get the chance to go back to his family, tell them about the 5th Special Forces group at the top of the hill where the boy’s father had a herd of sheep and goats.
    He wouldn’t get the chance to betray the men who opted to disobey their shoot-to-kill orders.
    He wouldn’t flash those brown eyes and tug at the hearts of men willing to fight to protect the boy’s people. To give them the benefit of the doubt. He wouldn’t have the chance to lie to Hawk’s face and swear he wouldn’t tell a living soul about the team.
    Hawk would make sure he didn’t have the chance again. Armed with both hands and an M4 . . .
    Definitely wouldn’t happen again.

4
    Six funerals in three weeks.
    Fifty-four rifle volleys cracking the chilled Arlington, Virginia, air.
    Seventeen parent and stepparent condolences and apologies.
    Two sobbing wives.
    One sergeant wishing he’d died.
    Said sergeant now holding the power to erase all of that.
    Erasing all that . . . untwisting fate. Wasn’t that playing God? The thought gave Hawk pause. Unease slithered through his stomach as he lay on the hard-packed earth. Something niggled at him, but he nudged it aside. No doubt a side effect of jumping back in time.
    Hawk stretched his neck and gazed down the sight and through the reticle. Tracing the terrain, he scanned left. Farther left. What’re you doing? He’s going to be coming over the rise directly in front.
    And he’d take the shot. Save the team. Relieve his guilt.
    But kill a seven-year-old boy?
    Pete’s age.
    â€œI’m going to be just like you, Hawk—be a soldier. Kill the bad terrorists, the bad guys.”
    When his little brother had thrust those words into the air and into Hawk’s heart, they’d embedded deep. He’d felt like a hero, and he’d just earned his green beret with Special Forces. Though he’d been a starting quarterback, dated the prettiest girl at school, and wore the uniform he’d aimed for since he was Peter’s age . . . those words had done something to him.
    Then everything fell apart with one Afghan boy.
    A mistake he had to fix.
    So he had to kill the boy. But did he have what it took?
    Technically, he had the skills. Emotionally . . . that was a different story. Last time, he hadn’t been willing to do it. Neither had anyone else in the trench. They were going to hold Abda . . .
    Hawk’s thoughts slipped out of warp and slowed. Abda. That’s right. He fisted a hand as memories tumbled one over another. He knew the boy’s name from their conversation.
    â€œI promise. I won’t tell them.” Abda smiled. “Americans—heroes, yes?”
    â€œI don’t know about this. . . .” Though McLellan had voiced everyone’s fear, nobody listened. And it’d angered McLellan, normally a reasonable soldier. Bloodlust wasn’t something that infected the team. They’d seen enough bloodshed. Been at the center of enough firefights. Enough was enough.
    â€œCan you shoot him?” Hawk