𝐁𝐄𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐁𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋.
After over a decade serving his country in Iraq and Afghanistan, Gunnery Sergeant Nathan Grimes thought the battlefield was behind him. But when he's s...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The sun over Camp Lejeune didn't rise so much as it attacked, beating down on the North Carolina earth like it had a personal grudge.
Gunnery Sergeant Nathan Grimes barely noticed. He was too focused on the dusty horizon, scanning it as his squad moved through the final leg of their live-fire maneuver drill.
His voice cut through the roar of gunfire. "Bravo team, tighten your spread! Mendoza, quit drifting left — you're not dancing!"
"Copy that."
A short laugh crackled over the radio, followed by Fischer's voice: "But if he was dancing, I'd rate it a three outta ten. Tops."
Nathan smirked. The guy never missed a beat.
Danny — Staff Sergeant Daniel Fischer — had been his right hand since boot. Sniper. Smartass. Brother in every way but blood. They'd enlisted together straight out of high school, survived two tours, three breakups, and one unforgettable bar brawl in Okinawa. Ten years in, and Nate still trusted Danny with his life more than anyone else.
Final shots rang out. The all-clear whistle blew.
"Drill complete," the range officer barked. "Stand down and safe your weapons."
The Marines regrouped in the staging area, tension bleeding out into heat-slicked humor.
"Fischer, you actually hit something today, or was that wind doing you a favor?" Miller teased, pulling off his helmet.
Danny popped the mag from his rifle with practiced ease. "I don't need favors, man. I could shoot the fleas off a squirrel's ass from half a mile out. With a hangover."
"Too bad you can't shoot a clean shave," Tommy quipped, eyeing Danny's five o'clock shadow.
"It's called rugged charm," Danny replied, rubbing his jaw. "You'd know nothing about that, Private Baby Face."
Nathan peeled off his gloves, chuckling. "Can't believe I survived two deployments just to listen to this garbage."
Danny grinned. "You love it."
He wasn't wrong.
"Hey Gunny," Miller called out as Nathan chuckled, "You planning on letting any of the rest of us tag a target, or should we just sit back and take notes?"
Nathan's last round pinged off the steel. "You can take notes or you can hit something for once in your life, Bryson. Your choice."
The unit laughed. Even Sergeant Miller as he flipped him the bird with a small grin.
"Man's got the reflexes of a goddamn hawk," DeLuca muttered, shaking his head. "Probably came out the womb with a rifle in his hands."
"Nah," Nathan replied, stepping off the line as the team reset the targets. "Just had two brothers who never let me miss a shot. Had to get good just to survive the backyard."
