Page 103 of Duty Preserved

I gave it.

They moved. Pairs bounding forward, covering each other, calling positions. Baraka sprinted twenty meters and hit the dirt hard. His rifle came forward, and he was oriented toward the imaginary threat before the dust settled around him. “Set!”

Zayn was up and past him. “Moving!”

The rest of the group followed in sequence, each pair leapfrogging the last.

Before I’d opened up to Sarah, the drills had been a constant and painful reminder of Owen. Zayn adjusting a stance became Owen adjusting a stance. Baraka dropping into position became a twenty-two-year-old kid dropping into position. Each correction came with the question I couldn’t silence: what if I’m wrong again?

That question was quiet now. Not dead. Quiet. Sarah hadn’t killed it. She’d just told me that I could give myself permission to set it down.

I could watch Zayn coach his own team and see Zayn. I could adjust Baraka’s spacing and think about Baraka’s spacing. The men in front of me were the men in front of me, not ghosts of the one I’d lost.

Train to the best of your ability and then trust them.

For the first time since I’d taken command of these men, I was doing it without flinching.

The cabin was black. I was lying next to Sarah when the radio went off.

A voice I recognized as one of the rangers on the night watch, speaking fast, half in English and half in Swahili. “Movement at the perimeter. Multiple positions. North side.”

I was already moving. Out of the bed, pants on, boots pulled tight. My sidearm was on the chair where I always left it. Sarah sat up behind me, the sheet falling away. She started to get up.

“Stay here,” I said. “Stay down. Away from the windows.”

“Donovan—”

“Stay in this cabin.” I turned back to her, found her face in the dark. “I’ll come back for you.”

She pulled me down by the collar and kissed me.

“Be safe,” she said.

I went out the door and into the night.

I was halfway to the rally point when the shooting started.

Heavy fire from the direction the watch had called out. It came in from multiple positions across the north side, sustained bursts that ripped through the darkness in strobing flashes. Rounds were zipping through the air and destroying brush.

I dropped low and covered the last thirty meters to the rally point at a sprint. Andrew was already there, holding an extra rifle he had acquired from the arms closet. He was crouched behind the concrete foundation of the generator housing. The rangers were arriving, filing in from the bunkhouse. Armed and moving to the positions we’d drilled.

“North side,” Andrew said. “At least four firing positions. Maybe more.”

I didn’t waste time. “This is what we trained for. Zayn, take your group with Andrew. Circle east and try to advance and flank.”

I turned to Baraka. “You’re with me. We need to establish a base of fire to cover Zayn’s team as they flank, and we need to slowly advance on their position to press them.”

Baraka was beside me, three more rangers behind him. We moved toward the north perimeter in a low crouch, using the buildings for cover. The incoming fire cracked overhead, punching into corrugated metal and splintering timber somewhere to our left.

We got behind a concrete vehicle barricade and went prone. Baraka set his rifle and oriented north. The rangers spread out beside him.

“Pick your targets. Fire at will.”

Baraka squeezed the trigger. The rifle barked, and the round tore across the clearing toward the nearest muzzle flash. The ranger beside him followed. Then the next.

I keyed the radio. “Andrew, we’re suppressing north. Move now.”

“Moving.”