Need You for Always (Heroes of St. Helena)(60)

“Dead, sir?”

Dax pointed dramatically to his package, knowing the kid could see him through the rifle’s scope. “Yeah, you shot his goods off, so I imagine he won’t be of much value to the captors, who now know your location, by the way. And your team? They’re pissed because it’s game over. So want to come down here and bring me an ice pack so you can tell me what you’re going to do to ensure you never misshoot again, and I can make sure I don’t swell up to the size of a grapefruit?” There was a long pause, just static on the line. “Gomer?”

“Uh, yes, sir?”

“I can see your mirror of a forehead puckered at my two o’clock. Did you misunderstand my command?”

“No, sir.” But he still didn’t move.

“Just making sure because ‘We need the hostage alive’ seemed like a pretty clear order to me. Almost as clear as ‘Bring me a damn ice pack,’ yet I still don’t see your freckles moving toward me.” Another moment of hesitation and Dax allowed himself to smile—a little. Maybe the kid wasn’t as stupid as he thought. “We were playing Rescue the Hostage and you killed the hostage,” he lied, seeing how the kid would respond. “Game over. Now be a man and bring me ice.”

Dax watched as Gomer stood and slung his rifle over his shoulder. “On my way, sir.”

“Aw, Jesus. Is he serious?” Jonah mumbled and Dax muted their headpiece so Gomer wouldn’t hear.

“I can’t believe this.” Jonah saw the kid tackle the external ladder, and he jerked back and forth in the chair, because the only thing that had been made clearer than that the hostage was to be rescued alive was that the game was not over until the commanding officer said so.

And Dax, although their training officer, was not their commanding officer. Jonah was, and that kid had just made a tactical error that in a real-life situation could have cost him his life.

Today, it might cost him his job. This training op was a mix of deputies and rookies, a way to increase training skills while creating an environment to see who would move up the ranks. Gomer started out with a strong showing at the range, then went lone wolf the second he saw the shot.

Dax would be lying if he said he hadn’t considered the same thing a hundred times before, only he knew that when in a situation where the information was constantly changing, deferring to the person with the widest vantage point was critical.

“Just cut me loose,” Jonah said, tugging on his hands. “Can’t make him piss his pants if I’m yelling while zip-tied to a chair.”

“As far as I’m concerned the game is still on.” Dax gave him the Sorry, bro shrug and Jonah liked it about as much as Dax liked getting shot in the goods. “And don’t count Gomer out just yet.” Jonah stopped rocking in the chair long enough to lift a brow. “What? The kid’s got something. That shot was impressive, a hundred yards with Simunition is a damn fine shot. Had I not stood when I did he would have caught me in the chest.”

Dax patted his Kevlar vest.

“But he didn’t,” Jonah said. “He shot without having clearance or a clear shot.”

“But he saw a shot and didn’t hesitate.” Something that Dax couldn’t say.

He’d had a shot, was given clearance, then looked through the scope . . . and knew the target. It was more recognition, really, a familiar face Dax had seen in the neighboring village walking with his kid, holding his hand. And surely a guy who loved his kid that much couldn’t be the right target.

That was it. A simple thread of connection and Dax had hesitated long enough to give away his position and put a group of guys he considered family, who were counting on him to have their backs, in the middle of a seriously screwed-up situation. And the guy who swung hands with his kid had launched the mortar that took out Dax’s knee.

“He took the shot,” Dax repeated.

“And hit the hostage.”

“I’m not the hostage,” Dax reminded Jonah, loving to see his older brother squirm. “I’m the captor.”

“Yeah, I’m tied to a chair with hostage written across my chest in neon yellow, you had a gun at my head. All it took was saying to him, ‘Hey, man, I’m the good guy,’ and he buys it,” Jonah said, and Dax could hear the frustration in his voice.

He could also hear the regret. Jonah didn’t want to let this kid go. He saw in him the same potential Dax did, but overlooking a mistake this epic would be difficult. Because as team leader, Jonah decided who made the cut and who worked the desk. And if he put his faith in the wrong person, someone would die—and he’d have to live with that.

“Trust your gut,” Dax said.

“My gut says he ignored direct orders and broke radio silence and, Jesus,” Jonah said. “There he is all sweaty and winded, running with his rifle and a freaking ice pack.”

“The rest of your guys are still in position,” Dax pointed out. “And yeah, he messed up. But he did it in a training situation. In front of his team. He won’t make that mistake again.”

Once upon a time, he’d been that same pumped-up, high-strung soldier jonesing for his first real combat situation to prove he was a hero. Then he’d met Sergeant Conley, who corralled all of that anger and energy and turned Dax into an elite soldier who knew that heroes were saved for comic books and action flicks, and he was being trained to do a job. “The kid just needs a mentor.”