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THIS IS A NOVEL of revenge.
Due to the sensitive nature of the security clearances I held while in the military as a Navy SEAL, I am required to submit any written material intended for public release, including works of fiction, to the Department of Defense.
We are citizens, not subjects, and we must stay ever vigilant that we remain so.
The vacationers and local residents traveling this mountain road in the fall afternoon had no idea that they were in the crosshairs of one of the nation’s deadliest warriors.
After sixteen years at war, the Afghan saying, “The Americans have all the watches, but we have all the time,” rang a bit more true than it had in the early days.
Reece had learned a long time ago that if something didn’t look right, then it probably wasn’t.
Yes. Wait, too heavy to be my helmet. That’s because it’s not your helmet. It’s someone else’s. And the head is still in it.
Boozer always had a way with words. Not one to ever sugarcoat anything, he always gave his honest assessment. As a leader, that was what Reece expected.
Always give your honest assessment. That was how one built trust as a combat leader. Without trust, there was nothing.
Reece nodded again, more to acknowledge the theatrics of the scenario than to specifically give his consent for the record.
The questions from NCIS had the smell of people with an agenda.
How can I go home and face my family when twenty-eight Rangers, four aircrew, and thirty-six SEALs of my Task Unit are going home in boxes?
“Sir, the ambush went as planned. You’ve seen the media reports.” “As planned? I’m reading that there were survivors; that was not the plan.
Ben Edwards, Reece’s closest friend and former Teammate.
A reporter who had the good taste not to smear herself in the blood of his men was a rare bird, and her intel was obviously strong.
He didn’t want to be the president of the United States. He wanted to control the president of the United States.
To control the most powerful person on earth made him the de facto king of the world.
He liked to be around exciting and attractive people, and on that front the D.C. elite couldn’t compete with L.A.
He commanded respect due to his rank, in stark contrast to a guy like Reece, who earned the respect of his men through word and deed.
Reece was built to fight. The admiral was built to administer and take care of his career.
Reece’s guess was that the admiral’s liberal political leanings under a far-left Democratic president had a lot to do with his ability to remain in his position.
Whoever these people were, they had taken everything from him. Everything but his will to fight. For that, they would pay dearly.
He smiled to himself recalling how he and his Teammates used to describe the front row of seats as “Pervert’s Row.”
Precision with a rifle requires precision in thought.
“She didn’t play the piano before and isn’t going to start playing now.”
Reece was not going to allow this network to evolve. He was going to destroy it. He was going to kill them all.
Reece was coming. Death was coming for them all.
Reece was all business. Tonight that business was death.
Reece had no reservations about sending her to the afterlife but wouldn’t do so unless it were absolutely necessary.
To Reece killing was one of the most natural things one could do; it was hardwired into his DNA.
This guy was polished. He had the air and presence of an academic, with the charisma of an elder statesman.
Reece trusted Liz Riley in a way he trusted few, if any, other people in his life.
Let those whom he hunted lose sleep wondering if they were to meet with a similar fate.
He could see she was coming unglued. He could not have that in a commander in chief he planned to control. It was unbecoming.
