A Soldier's Promise [The Armstrong Brothers of Cedar Creek 3] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic)

by Rebecca Joyce

  Finding a church was easy, too. The Cedar Creek First Presbyterian was the focal point of the town. Right next to the courthouse, she and Andrew had made their first appearance last Sunday and were welcomed with open arms.

  As for finding Andrew a summer activity, that was becoming harder and harder. Though the town of Cedar Creek did have its perks, activities for kids were something else. A strong cattle community, most children helped out on their parents’ ranches during the summer. While some did play sports, that was something she knew Andrew wouldn’t be able to do. So she turned to the church for guidance and managed to find that the judge offered chess lessons at his home on Saturday afternoons.

  So now, all she had left to do was get the house squared away, and that was what she was planning to do over the weekend. The movers had arrived a couple of days ago, and living with boxes upon boxes was not her idea of a neat and clean home. Therefore, with Andrew in the backyard investigating, she started opening boxes.

  * * * *

  A soft breeze was blowing through the trees as Mason leaned back, looking up into the sky. It was another warm day in Cedar Creek, the perfect day for fishing.

  Since Michael had called and told him he wasn’t needed till later in the day, Mason packed up his gear and headed out the back door. Walking the mile or so to the pond that lay between his property and the next, he enjoyed the silence of nature as it surrounded him. Birds chirped, twigs crunched beneath his feet, and the soft, whistling breeze was music to his ears.

  It was the quiet silence in his head that he was having trouble with.

  That was hard.

  For the longest time, it was the morning wake-up of reveille—the loud bang of cannons, the shouts of officers and soldiers as they began their day. Sometimes it was the chaotic shouts, machine guns, RPGs, rocket launchers, bombs, and then those horrible screams. The screams were the worst.

  After his last tour, Mason wanted to kill the asshole that brought him and the remaining members of his team up on charges, because that last clusterfuck was the biggest mistake on the planet. Of course, according to the powers that be, it was his entire fault because he failed to follow a direct order, which is why he got kicked out and the other members of the team were split up and shipped off to other units.

  It had been almost a year since he had gotten out, and the urge to get up at the crack of dawn, run calisthenics, eat chow, dress, and grab his boots all before six in the morning was still ingrained in him. Hell, looking down he just shook his head at seeing his combat boots instead of cowboy boots.

  Mason knew he had been destined for a life in the military. The oldest of the Armstrong brothers, he had been taught from early on how to lead and command. His father ran his house like a general, and with six sons, not including Henry, he had to. His brothers could get themselves into some sticky situations, and because Mason was the oldest he felt the brunt of his father’s anger.

  They were a lot alike, he and his father, and that aggravated Mason because he knew it. So much had weighed on his shoulders from day one, all because he was the oldest. He was the leader of their little brat pack, and it was up to him to guide and set the example. He hated that the most.

  Just a child himself, he had never been allowed to just enjoy life, for he had to work right alongside his father, helping him to run the ranch and mold six boys into men. That was no way for a child to grow up. But looking back now, he kind of understood his father and was grateful when it was his time to lead his men into the battlefield. For that only, he would admit his father had done right by him.

  Patient and understanding, Mason tried to be a friend, a good listener, and sometimes even a disciplinarian to his soldiers. Of course, most of his unit was just young men, like himself, and they all ended up growing up together. He was close with each member of his unit and stayed in touch even after he was discharged. He just hoped they were all doing all right.

  Walking through the clearing, he came upon the pond and quietly set up his rod. Baited and ready, he flicked his wrist and set the cast. Sitting on the soft grass, he jabbed his pole into the metal hook he placed then leaned back, closed his eyes, and enjoyed the morning sun.

  The air was dripping with the stench of those that were left behind. The water ran red with the blood of those who would never again fight another day, but for those who survived, the fear of another attack was insurmountable. Wading through the bodies and debris, they quickly removed dog tags, stuffing them into their pockets. There were too many of them, they had no choice. Quickly removing all identifying insignia, they prayed that someone would come to recover them.

  Cautiously moving forward and attempting to find shelter, they all treaded lightly. Overhead the thump, thump, thump of the chopper blades were making their way through the brush, but they knew their ride would not arrive in time.

  The rebels were almost to them, and they were definitely not friendly.

  The first RPG verified their assumptions.

  “Run!” Mason shouted at the remaining members of his team, as he started running for cover. Within moments they eased their pace, scanning and checking for an ambush. After about an hour, their trek in the forest turned ugly when it began to rain.

  The thickening smoke filled the brush as they made their way through the heavy downpour of rain. Wind whipping around them, they were all wet, cold, hungry, and very tired. Wind whistled through the trees, making the area ominous. The thick forest floor quickly became an oozing mud pie as they stealthily made their way through the cavernous, dense forest. A nearby coffee plantation filled the air with a warm aroma, the mouth-watering scent of perfectly brewed coffee just waiting to be drunk.

  “Damn, this place sure isn’t helping my need for a caffeine fix,” Rich said, taking a deep breath, almost tasting the hot brew on his parched lips.

  “Shut the fuck up, you caffeine junkie,” Pup whispered, picking up a stick and poking him in the back.

  “What did you say, kid? You know I still owe you for that bullet in my ass,” Rich shot back.

  Pup grinned. “Whenever you’re ready, old man.”

  “Would you two knock it off?” Talkie said, coming up behind them. “Survive today, fight tomorrow.”

  “Hey, Talkie, let ’em go at it. Gunny and I have fifty bucks on Pup,” Fish whispered, adding his two cents.

  “I thought it was a hundred?” Gunny questioned with a grin.

  “That’s right, Gunny.” Fish smiled. “Hey, Pup, you think you can get another round off before Rich blows your ass to kingdom come?”

  “No problem, Fish. Already have him in my sights,” Pup said, looking through the crosshairs of his scope, right at Rich’s ass.

  Rounding on him, Rich said, “Real fucking cute, Travis. Put that fucking thing away, before I blow your ass back to Kentucky.”

  “That’s West Virginia, you napalm idiot,” Pup corrected.

  “Will all of you shut. The. Fuck. Up!” Mason ordered rather loudly, turning to look at the remaining members of his team. “We have a fucking job to do, and I would appreciate a little professionalism.” As Mason started walking again, they all heard when he said, “And, Fish, put me down for fifty on Pup.”

  The team laughed as they continued on toward their destination. Moving at a steady pace, they made it to the clearing in time to find their contact waiting. What they didn’t expect was to find a beautiful woman waiting.

  Lying across the hood of a yellow International Scout, wearing a simple yellow sundress and a pair of flip-flops on her dainty feet, she looked like a woman just out for a day at the beach. Her mahogany hair was graying a little as the wind blew it past her shoulders. Her dark caramel skin sparkled in the afternoon sun. It was then that they realized it had stopped raining.

  The team approached silently, all looking at each other, wondering if this was a trap or if the boys in suits had finally lost their fucking minds and were playing tricks on them. Regardless, they proceeded with caution.

  “D
ear God, if this is a trap, I am going to die a happy man,” Rich said, moving closer to the vehicle.

  Within a hundred yards, Mason held his hand up, stopping the forward movement. Motioning with his hands, they team spread out, each taking a defensive position, to best help the team if this was a trap.

  “Chao!” said the most intoxicating voice.

  “Talkie, you’re up,” Mason ordered.

  The team watched as their linguist specialist made his way toward the woman. The conversation he held with her only lasted a minute. Talkie made his way back to Mason shaking his head.

  “This doesn’t look good,” Rich whispered.

  “Well, this shit just got complicated rather quickly,” Talkie began. “Cutie over there is none other than Camilla Montequilla.”

  “You’re shittin’ me,” Mason cursed, astounded.

  “Never understood that phrase, Cap, but yes, and it gets better. She is willing to give us the information we need.”

  “I hear a ‘but’ in there.”

  “See, I knew you were smart, Mason. She’ll help, if we grant her asylum for her and her kid.”

  “We ain’t a fuckin’ daycare! Tell her no, Wayne. We are only here for her husband.” Mason fumed.

  “She won’t do it unless we help her.”

  “Son of a bitch!” Mason cursed loudly and started to walk off. He felt like strangling something, mainly this woman who was making his already fucked-up mission more complicated. He knew his ass was already in a sling for the shit that went down a couple miles back, but damn, this bitch took the cake. He really hated when a fucked-up plan went to shit quick.

  Turning back to Talkie, with his hand held out, he shouted, “Give me that fucking phone.”

  It took over thirty minutes for the guys in suits to get back to them after he informed them of the change of plans, but when they did, Mason’s head was about to snap off. His cursing was astronomical, and his team all stepped back, giving him a wide berth.

  “Where is the little brat?” Mason asked Talkie, who was conversing with the woman.

  “With our target.” He smiled, knowing it was going to blow the last remaining fuse Mason had.

  “Fuck!”

  Just how in the hell was his team going to get their hands on the target and not endanger the kid? It wasn’t possible. They knew going into the campground was already tricky. That’s why they had opted to capture the target while he was leaving. The man in question had become a top priority for the U.S. government, and they wanted him in custody.

  “You tell that woman that we will do what we can, but her husband is our target. I will not promise her anything, is that clear, Sergeant?”

  “Crystal.”

  Mason knew this was no longer going to be a simple snatch-and-grab. Their orders were to acquire Julio Montequilla and return to the rendezvous point and get the hell out of Dodge within twenty-four hours. Looking at his team, Mason knew this was nothing for all of them. They were all versed in the formalities, from logistics to demolition. A team made up of mutts that nobody wanted, they came from all branches and each had their own special techniques.

  Corporal Travis Campbell, aka Pup, was the baby of the group and hailed from the Army. Pup was the best sharpshooter anyone had seen in years. Coming from the hills of West Virginia, he grew up with a gun in his hand. He could shoot from over a mile and always hit whatever target he wanted, which is what landed him with the rejects and not in the brig. Apparently taking aim at a two-star general is frowned upon. Now, he didn’t actually hit the general, but the humvee he was riding in was another story. After a year and a half in the brig, Pup was given a choice—either be dishonorably discharged or work for the rejects. He chose wisely.

  Sergeant Richard Hamer, aka Rich, as he preferred to be called, wasn’t happy unless he had a gallon of caffeine in his system, which is why the team denied him his favorite crutch, realizing he was more effective without it. Rich was the Army’s foremost expert on demolition. A true MacGyver to the core, Rich could whip up any explosive out of thin air, and in seconds fireworks would begin. According to his military jacket, Rich was just having fun, showing off for some kids, but when the fire department and CID showed up because he accidently used too much gunpowder, they didn’t take kindly to having the MP car going kaboom! Rich spent eight months in the brig before being offered a job with the team.

  Lieutenant Michael O’Brian, aka Fish, was the team’s naval medical officer. He was generally a quiet man and didn’t like conflict, which is why he spent two years in the brig for fraternizing with half the medical staff at Langley Hospital, in Virginia. It was Fish’s job to make sure Pup and Rich didn’t kill each other.

  Marine Sergeant Wayne Williams, aka Talkie, was the team’s linguistics man. Fluent in over thirteen languages, he could curse up one side and down the other and make it sound like he was calling your mother a beautiful flower. Which is exactly what he did to a diplomat he was in charge of interpreting for at a NATO convention. That stunt cost him a year in the brig.

  Gunnery Sergeant Kerry Miller, aka Gunny, a Marine to the core, specialized in hand-to-hand combat. Everyone stayed away from him, even Mason.

  The team’s pilot, Navy Lieutenant Caleb Johns, aka Bird, could fly anything. The man had gotten the team out of so many scrapes, and Mason feared his services were going to be needed again today.

  Finally there was Einstein. Naval Master Chief Petty Officer Adam Little, the team’s so-called intelligence guy and the only member who had volunteered for the rejects. Little was also the only one with a clean jacket. The team hated him. It was Einstein’s job to know everything, and right now, he had seriously fucked his job up.

  “Get ready. We leave in ten minutes. Check your gear ’cause once we start moving we won’t be stopping. Got that, Rich?” Mason said, looking directly at the Sergeant.

  “One time! It was one time, Captain,” Rich replied with a grin.

  Mason woke drenched in sweat. His heart was pounding hard against his chest. It had been months since he had dreamed about that mission. He thought he had finally let it all go. He had been told when he woke at Walter Reed Medical Hospital that that day would always plague him. Hell, he still had the scars to prove it, but this time it felt so real. He could still smell the coffee in the air, as if he was just there.

  Reaching for the cooler he brought with him, he popped it open and grabbed a soda inside, and that was when he noticed the kid.

  Chapter Two

  Quietly next to him, holding his fishing pole, sat a small boy. No older than ten, the young blond boy sat very silently, not moving, just watching the waves in the pond. His little hand slowly reeled in the line, and when it reached the tip of the pole, Mason watched as the kid flipped the lever and flicked, letting the line fly again.

  The kid did this over and over again, not catching anything. He seemed content just reeling in the rod and casting.

  “Thirsty, kid?” Mason asked, holding a soda out for him.

  The kid never said anything but took the soda.

  Shrugging his shoulders, Mason sat up and just watched the kid fish.

  Breaking the silence, Mason began, “Not very talkative, are you? That’s okay, I’m not either. So, you like to fish. I find it soothing, too. Sometimes can’t get my head to shut off. Too many things happening all at once, kinda gives me a headache. Ever have that problem?” he asked, looking at the blond-headed boy.

  Still the boy remained silent.

  “No. I didn’t think so. What would you have to worry about anyway? Unlike me who worries about everything and everyone. You know something, kid, I am the oldest of seven brothers. You have brothers?” he asked, and continued when the boy did not reply. “No? Well, thank your lucky stars. They can all be a pain in the ass sometimes. Oops, sorry about that. You don’t mind if I curse, do ya? Good, anyway, like I was saying, I can’t get a word in edgewise with that bunch. Always asking me for help, what to do, what I think. Man, let me tell you,
sometimes, I just want to get away and enjoy the silence, ya know what I mean? Of course you do, you’re a fisherman, like me. We can fish for hours and not have to say a single word. It’s great.”

  Mason watched for a response, but the kid never answered.

  The kid was quiet. Mason liked him. He never could stand kids that jabbered on and on. They always felt skittish to him, like they were nervous or something. He never understood what a kid had to be nervous about.

  “So, kid, ya got a name?”

  “Andrew James Hickory. My name is Andrew James Hickory,” he replied with no inflection at all.

  “Cool. Nice to meet ya, Andrew James Hickory. I am Mason Harold Armstrong.” Mason held out his hand and watched as the kid looked at it and then cautiously held his little hand out to him.

  Mason had to give the kid props. He had a firm handshake, unlike those jittery kids who couldn’t get their hands away quick enough.

  “So, like I was saying. I have six brothers, and if you include me that’s seven. I grew up in Silver Springs, Montana. That’s north of Texas. Man, I am not going to miss those winters. So, Andrew James Hickory, I know you like to fish. What else do you like to do?”

  Sighing, the kid took a small drink of his soda and cast the rod once again before he responded. “I like to read.”

  “That’s cool. I like to read, too. Hey, did you read those Harry Potter books? I had a buddy in the Army who loved that shit. He said they were really good, and he even watched the movies. You like movies?”

  “Documentaries,” Andrew replied.

  “Wow. You must be smart. Never could stay awake long enough to watch those. Any particular ones you like?”

  “Dinosaurs. I like documentaries on dinosaurs.”

  “I’m a stegosaurus man myself. What about you?”

  “Velociraptor,” Andrew said softly.

  “Ah, a meat eater, those were cool. Never did understand the T-Rex, though. I mean how they were the biggest, meanest dinosaur around with those short little arms.”