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...
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𝖲𝖢𝖤𝖭𝖤 3.1
"Uncle Nate... I don't think he hears me anymore. I hold his hand, but... he doesn't move."
After planning his retirement. After signing the paperwork that would finally let him go home—for good. After everything.
Gone.
Just like that.
Nate sat alone in the corner of the barracks, head bowed, the burner phone still clutched in his hand. The call had ended three minutes ago, but Carl's voice still echoed in his ears.
Carl had tried to be brave. Just like Rick taught him. Just like Nate had promised to be. But halfway through the call, the kid broke. Started crying. Started asking if his dad would ever wake up. If Uncle Nate could fix it. If Rick was still a hero.
Nate didn't have a single goddamn answer. All he could do was lie. And even that felt like betrayal.
The phone hit the wall before he realized he'd thrown it. Plastic cracked. Battery snapped loose. He stood too fast, his boots scraping across the floor as he kicked the metal footlocker and sent it crashing into the wall. Gear, papers, mugs—everything on the table went flying.
"Goddammit!" he roared, voice breaking on the last syllable.
A firm hand clapped his shoulder from behind, nearly jolting him out of his skin.
"Gunny. You need to breathe. Now."
Bryson Miller. The only guy in the unit who could match his intensity and out-stubborn him when it counted.
Nate yanked away, chest heaving like his ribs were too small for his lungs. "Don't touch me!"
"You think I wanna be the one to see you court-martialed? Or worse? Get your shit under control, Nate."
His fists trembled at his sides, rage and helplessness threatening to rip him apart from the inside.
"I wasn't there," he rasped. "That kid called me and I couldn't say a single thing to help him. His dad—my brother—is barely holding on, and I'm stuck here pretending any of this shit matters."
Bryson didn't flinch. "You think I don't get it? But we don't get to check out. Not you. Not me. Not anyone."
Before Nate could respond, the door creaked open.
Staff Sergeant Daniel Fischer stepped inside. His boots crunched over shards of plastic and scattered papers. His gaze took in the overturned cot, the wreckage on the floor... and finally landed on Nate.
"What the hell happened?" Danny asked, voice low but edged with concern.
Bryson didn't break his stare. "Gunny got the orders."
