Page 26 of Trusting a Warrior

“It wasn’t, actually. It’s playtime. The thing is, this ball is also his reward for working, so he takes it very seriously.”

Now that his toy was safe, Bosch was the canine version of all smiles, his head cocked as he stared at the new person in his orbit. Matt continued to look uneasy, so Geo said, “Since he’s not working, Bosch wouldn’t mind an ear scratch, if you wanted to give him one.”

The dog didn’t rip off the tentative hand Matt extended, and visibly relieved, Matt relaxed and fondled his ears. “What’s his job? Explosives detection?”

“He’s considered a multi-purpose K9, so he does a lot of scent work, and every now and then he gets to do his favorite thing of all—bite people.”

Matt froze, and Geo laughed. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. He only bites on command, and believe me, he wouldn’t bother with your hand. He goes for the whole arm.”

With a gulp, Matt croaked, “Jesus. Glad he’s on our side.” A few more ear scratches, and then he said, “Can I—”

“Sure. Go ahead and make friends.”

Crouching down to Bosch’s level, Matt studied him as he petted his neck and sides. “Handsome fella. Is he a German shepherd?”

“Belgian Malinois. They’re smaller and lighter than shepherds, and that makes all the difference considering how many times per day I lift him out in the field. This guy fast-ropes with me, jumps out of planes with me. He’s considered part of my combat load.”

“Shit, that’s amazing. I can’t wait to see him in action.”

“Your troop doesn’t have a K9 handler?” Geo asked.

“No, we don’t.” Matt grinned. “But we had someone special attached to us. A CST.”

It took Geo a moment to connect the dots. “Cultural Support Team? I’ve never gotten to work with one of those women. What was it like?”

“Awesome as fuck.” Matt launched into a couple of stories about Devon—the CST—which left Geo shaking his head in almost disbelief.

“Wow. I’d love to meet her someday.”

“Everyone should meet her. She’s great, calm under fire, an all-around fantastic person.”

“Which platoon are you with?”

When Matt told him, Geo winced. “Shit. I heard through the grapevine that a couple of your guys ran afoul of an RPG over in Afghanistan.”

Matt pointed to himself. “One of the guys. The other was my—” his throat worked “—my best friend.”

“Oh, man.”

“I was driving,” Matt went on raggedly, “and the RPG exploded over the gun turret. Shane was bleeding out, but I didn’t stop...”

The first rule of combat medicine: win the fight. Injuries didn’t matter if everyone was dead. Once fire superiority was established, then aid could be rendered.

“Your buddy’s okay?”

“He’ll be in Germany for another week or so, but yeah, he’s gonna be okay.”

And in the meantime, you needed to keep busy. Understandable.

“How about you?” Geo asked.

“Me?”

“Making the decision to keep driving can’t have been easy. You coping with that?”

Matt’s eyes looked straight into his. “It was my duty to keep driving. I couldn’t sacrifice the entire convoy to save Shane, and he wouldn’t have wanted me to. If I’d stopped, and more people were hurt or killed, he would’ve hated me for that in the end. It wasn’t a choice, it was the only thing to do. And I’d do it all over again.”

Despite his seeming calm, the pain evident in the set of Matt’s jaw and compressed lips told Geo how much that decision had cost him emotionally.