Chapter 1

Shawn

SEVEN YEARS AGO

“Promise me you’ll come back home to me.”

I can hear her utter those words even out here, in the fucking heat, on the dusty fucking road of Tora Bora.

Every time I think of her blazing green eyes, her gorgeous, sexy, hot curves, and her vixen smile, I feel as if my insides are being put in a blender. It’s the worst fucking feeling.

Sometimes, I wonder why I’m even out here. When I look around, I see the same question in my comrades.

On good days, we’re good, but on bad days, we’re fucking awful. Nothing wrong with questioning your own actions, by the way. I mean, let’s face it, we should all question more about what’s going on instead of following blindly.

Last week, our troop sustained significant loss. It’s hard to come to terms with; it always is.

None of us like to see anyone get killed. It leads to so much self-questioning—self-doubt. You can’t help but go over and over the attack and how we responded to spot the mistake.

None of us want to make mistakes. We all want to learn from what goes wrong when it goes wrong.

If we don’t learn, we won’t survive. Surviving is what matters to all of us.

How much fucking longer am I going to be stuck out here? Every day is worse than the one before.

The heat is fucking unbearable, not to mention the dust.

“Damn. Look at that hot babe.”

The voice right next to my ear rouses me out of my navel-gazing.

I glance at James, my best friend, and quickly tuck Evelyn’s picture back into the top pocket of my army shirt.

The thought of James leering at my Evy does not sit well with me, even if it’s just her picture. I should be used to it by now since he always fucking does it, but it still bothers me every damn time.

“What’d you do to get her to marry you? Give her a love potion or something?” James jokes, and it’s not the first time I’ve heard this one. “You better watch someone doesn’t steal her away from you.”

I grimace.

For the last few days, the urge to return has increased. And James’ comments aren’t helping.

Coming face to face with death will do that do you. It leaves you questioning what you’re doing. It also leaves you with the “why me” syndrome.

Why did I survive and Private Jones didn’t? Does it mean I’m a better person, or that my time is coming?

Trouble is, we all have so many fucking questions and so few answers.

I’ve asked for a leave pass to go and visit my Evy. But at this stage, it hasn’t been approved. We’re deep within enemy territory, and it’s not easy to simply take a vacation.

A smile plays on my lips as I imagine the chopper picking me, enemy fire ceasing momentarily, so I can return home.

Home.

I can’t fucking wait to get back home.

There’s so much I miss about home.

I miss the way Evy runs her hands over my back and presses her body into mine. The way she perfectly fits into me when we cuddle in bed. The way she simply completes me in every which way.

“Enemy fire!” screams our driver, and instinctively, I duck.

At the same time, I grab my gun. My eyes scan the horizon.

Nothing.

Smack.

A stray bullet hits the side of the jeep, inches from my head.

“Close one,” mumbles James and takes cover beside me.

“Pull over!” yells one of the others, and our driver aims for an old multi-story building to our left.

There are numerous of these deserted buildings in Afghanistan. Usually, they’ve sustained some type of bombing damage, and the people have fled the area, intent on saving their lives.

Out here, we don’t see many reports. But occasionally, we get a brave reporter come in to join the troops.

They only ever last a few days, if that.

The last one, though, stayed with us for three weeks. He wanted to report things most people didn’t get to read. He wanted to report on the tragedies occurring with the Afghani people, the terrible conditions the troops live in, and all kinds of other shit.

There was nothing wrong with him or his intention. Trouble is, I think, people don’t want to read the truth. People don’t want to know how our comrades die, how I’ve seen children get shot, and how villages with innocent people bombed.

Let’s face it: people don’t really want to know the truth about war. The truth about war is it is neither fair, nor just, and it doesn’t solve any problems.

“Run!” our driver screams, and we do as we’re told.

James is just ahead of me. A volley of bullets slam into the ground all around him. I see him move his feet faster.

Frantically, I look around. It’s hard to see exactly what’s going on, but I think I can spot a sniper behind a rock to our left.

I stop, load, aim, and shoot, just as another volley of bullets kick up the dust just behind James.

He’s probably out of reach by now, but I still take aim.

The shooting from that direction stops.

James comes to an abrupt halt and spins on his heels.

I give him the thumbs up and grins.

“Keep fucking going,” I shout and start running again myself, rifle at the ready.

More shots are fired, but these ones are still some distance away. Once we’re inside the building, we each take up positions at various windows. The enemy is now throwing bombs.

I can feel the ground shake beneath my feet. Bits of cement crumble onto my head from the ceiling. Some of it goes into my eyes, and I blink furiously.

“Thanks for saving my life, man.” James takes up position next to me.

My gun’s pointing out through a small opening in the brick work.

With my left eye shut, I peer out with my right. It’s difficult to see much, with dust being kicked up and smoke rising into the air.

“Fucking pricks,” mumbles James and moves a little away from me.

Unfortunately for him, there’s no window right next to me.

“No worries, buddy,” I reply and grin at him. “I know you’d do the same for me.”

We’ve been best friends for a long time. We go way back to school days. James is like a brother to me, and I’d die for him, just like I know he’d die for me.

It’s because of this that I’ve accepted his strange fondness for my wife. I know he’s got a sweet spot for her. And I know he secretly admires her.

But since he’s my friend, he knows his place, and he would never step the mark. Like I said, we’re like brothers.

“Let’s hope it won’t come to it,” he calls back and starts shooting.

About another minute later, there’s an extremely loud hiss followed by an explosion.

“We’ve been hit!” yells someone. “Retreat! Retreat!”

Before I can stand up, there’s another bomb exploding right near the side of the building James and I are in.

Without warning, the building starts to crumble in on itself. Brick after brick collapses.

Some of them land on me. I push them off and try to get to my feet. As soon as I’ve gotten rid of about five or six, another dozen or so replace them.

“James,” I call, but I can’t see anything for all the smoke and rubble coming down around me.

The noise is deafening.

Is this the end?

My heart starts to beat faster. Adrenaline pulses through me as I think of Evelyn, and an overwhelming need to stay alive grips ahold of me.

I throw off more bricks.

“Help!” I yell, since by now I’m totally pinned to the ground with debris and rubble.

No one comes. I can’t hear anyone. Apart from gunfire and explosions, it’s silent.

Have my comrades all died?

A cold shiver runs down my spine.

My eyes search my surrounding area. I still can’t see much.

Come on, I urge myself on. You gotta get the fuck out of here.

I’m making slow headway.

There’s a low grumble, and I look up, horrified. The wall seems to be shaking. If it falls on top of me, that’ll be the end, for sure.

“Help…fuck…help…anyone…”

My throat is hurting. My fingers are aching. I feel blood trickling down my face; something must have struck the side of it without me noticing.

“Help,” I try again, but this time with less hope.

I think this is it. I’m going to die here in this godforsaken place, all alone, without ever getting to see or kiss Evy again.

“Shawn?”

My head snaps up. It’s James.

“Over here,” I call and wave my arms.

I can see him emerge from the dust and smoke. It’s a bit like a movie scene.

He gets closer.

“Thank god,” I start, and then I only stare.

He’s holding a piece of wood in his right hand. His face is anything but friendly.

“James,” I start, then stop. “Where are the others?”

What the fuck is he doing?

“Gone” is all he says before he takes a swing, and the world goes pitch black.