1
Five years ago
The oppressive heat in Mogadishu was relentless, settling over everything like a wet blanket and making it hard to breathe. Bert Tomlinson crouched behind the crumbling wall of what had once been a school, his rifle steady despite the sweat running down his back and soaking through his tactical vest. Twenty meters ahead, their target building sat silent in the pre-dawn darkness.
“South entrance clear,” he murmured into his comm, his voice barely above a whisper. Even after six years as a SEAL, he still felt that spike of adrenaline before an op, that hyperawareness that made every sound sharp and every shadow potentially deadly.
“Copy that,” Logan Bishop said, steady and calm. “Sisco, status?”
“North entrance secured. Two hostiles down.”
“Devlin?”
“West side’s clear. We’re good to move.”
Bert shifted his weight, his eyes scanning the windows above for any sign of movement. This was what he was good at… the patient observation and the quiet competency that didn’t require flash or drama. While Devlin drew attention with his easy charm and Sisco commanded respect with his presence, Bert operated in the spaces between. Watching. Waiting. Making sure everyone came home alive.
“Bert, you’re with me,” Logan said. “Sisco, Devlin, hold position.” He gave orders to the others on their team. Orders that every man would follow no matter what, but Bert knew it was Logan Bishop, known as Preacher, who held the team to a higher standard. “We move in two minutes.”
They moved like shadows through the pre-dawn darkness, years of training making their movements synchronized and silent. Bert took point, his rifle up, his breathing controlled, every sense attuned to potential threats. The target building was a suspected weapons cache. Their intel suggested a local warlord was using it to supply insurgents throughout the region.
The mission went smoothly. Almost too smoothly. They cleared the building room by room, secured the weapons, and extracted without incident. By the time the sun was climbing over the horizon, they were in the helicopter, heading back to the rest of the team waiting in a local town. Another successful operation was logged in the books.
“Nice work out there,” Logan said as they stripped off their gear in the ready room. “Clean, efficient, no casualties.”
“That’s how we like it,” Sisco declared with a grin, his deep voice carrying the satisfaction of a job well done.
Devlin stretched, rolling his shoulders. “Anyone else starving? I could eat a whole goat right now.”
“Can’t beat the place in town,” Bert offered quietly. “The one with the good tagine.”
“Perfect,” Logan said. “Let’s go celebrate not getting shot at for once.”
The small restaurant was tucked away on a side street, the kind of place locals frequented and tourists rarely found. The owner recognized them since they’d been there enough times over the past few weeks and greeted them with warm enthusiasm. They soon claimed a table near the back where they could sit against the wall with a view of the entrance.
Old habits died hard.
The food was decent, the conversation easy, and for a while, Bert let himself relax into the camaraderie of his team. This was what made the hard parts worth it… the moments of brotherhood, shared purpose, and knowing you’d trust these men with your life, and they’d trust you with theirs.
They were laughing at one of Devlin’s stories involving a bar in Thailand and a case of mistaken identity. Bert’s attention wandered when he noticed the woman at the next table. She was local, probably in her mid-thirties, with two young children playing with scraps of paper while she ate. The kids were young, their faces bright with imagination as they played.
Something about the scene tugged at Bert’s chest. The normalcy of it. A mother and her children, trying to live their lives in a city torn apart by violence and instability. Trying to find moments of peace in the chaos.
He turned back to hear the end of Devlin’s story when an explosion shattered the afternoon like a hammer through glass.
One second, Bert was reaching for his beer, and the next, the world was noise and heat and flying rubble as the building flew apart. His training kicked in before conscious thought… he dove toward the woman and her children, his body covering theirs as the ceiling collapsed.
The impact drove the air from his lungs. Something heavy slammed onto the left side of his head, shooting white-hot pain through him. The instant the building stopped tumbling around them, he looked up to scan the area for his team. His gaze quickly found them all standing. Logan’s mouth was moving, but all Bert could hear was the ringing… a high-pitched whine that drowned out everything else. Dust filled his mouth and his nose, making it hard to breathe.
But beneath him, the woman was moving. The children were wiggling. They were alive.
Hands grabbed at him, and he turned to see Sisco hauling him up and off the family he’d shielded. The restaurant was gone, just rubble and smoke and the screams of the injured. He knew others might be hurt and quickly looked down to see if he had a wound he might not feel under the adrenaline. But all seemed intact… except that goddamn ringing in his ears.
“Bert!” Logan’s mouth was moving, but the words sounded distant, underwater. “Can you hear me?”
Bert nodded, though the truth was that everything sounded wrong. Muffled. Like someone had stuffed cotton in his ears, then wrapped his whole head in a blanket. Logan was staring at Bert’s head, and he lifted his hand to feel the wet. Withdrawing his fingers, he realized he was bleeding.
“We need to move,” Sisco was saying, or at least Bert thought that was what he was saying. He could hear words but not clearly. Refusing to slow them down, he stared at Sisco’s mouth to pick up the cues.