Nicholas Smith - Extinction Age

Beckham knew Jensen wanted another operator, but Fitz was good with a rifle. Damn good. He had saved Kate and countless others. He didn’t want to know what she would say about him leaving again, but this was a short mission. Hopefully, she would understand.

“That good enough?” Beckham asked. He locked eyes with Jensen and the officer nodded in a way that only two leaders would understand.

“Can I go?” Riley asked. His features were hard, and Beckham wondered if he was joking. Then he winked and cracked a half grin. Despite the kid’s good humor, the sight of Riley confined to the chair made Beckham want to punch a wall.

“Thanks,” Jensen said. “You guys get some rest. Master Sergeant Beckham, report to command at 1700.”

“Yes, sir,” Beckham replied.

Jensen and Smith left Team Ghost and Horn’s daughters in a companionable silence. The quiet was broken a few moments later by a brittle voice.

“You can’t save us all,” Chow said. “World doesn’t work like that, man. You don’t get to make decisions like this for me.” He hurried out of the room and slammed the door shut behind him.

“Give him time,” Horn said. “He just lost his best friend.”

Beckham nodded and took a seat on his bunk, the energy washing out of him. Chow was right. He couldn’t control a situation that had spiraled completely out of control. Panda, Tenor, Edwards, Jinx, Ryan, Valdez—Beckham hadn’t been able to save any of them. And by the time this war was over, Beckham had a feeling he was going to bury more of his brothers.

Or maybe they’d be the ones burying him.

Meg maneuvered her wheelchair through the doorway, using her palm to keep the door open. A soldier wheeling his own chair down the hall stopped to gawk at her. He ran a hand over his mop of wild hair as she struggled with the door.

“What the hell are you staring at?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Wondering when you’d ask for some help.”

She turned the wheel with her left hand and elbowed the door with her other arm. The metal swung open and then came back and hit her on the elbow before she could react. She bit back a whimper and glared at the soldier.

“You going to help me or what?” she said.

The man laughed and wheeled over. He held the door open so she could finally move into the hallway.

“Thanks,” she said listlessly.

He sat there, continuing to stare. Up close, she could see that his eyes were bright blue.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Meg asked. “Do I have something on my face, or what?”

He shook his head, grinned, and held out his hand. “I’m Staff Sergeant Alex Riley, but you can call me Riley. Or ‘kid’ is fine, too. That’s what my brothers call me.”

She regarded him with a raised brow, giving him a once over. His legs were both in casts, and his face was covered with the soft yellow of healing bruises.

“Meg,” she said, grabbing his hand reluctantly.

“Welcome to Plum Island. How’d you get here, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Meg licked her dry lips. “Look, I’ve been bedridden all day. I’m tired, my legs are killing me, and I just want some fresh air. Can we skip my life story?”

“Sure,” Riley said. His eyes darted away to the window in the room behind her. “I’m here for a check-up, just thought I’d say hi.” He started wheeling away and said, “Nice to meet you, Meg.”

She sighed and watched him go. When he was halfway down the hall, she said, “I was rescued from New York.”

He twisted around and looked at her for a moment. “Beckham found you, didn’t he?”

Meg remembered the name. “Yeah,” Meg said, wheeling after Riley. “Yeah, he did. Do you know him? I want to thank him.”

Riley smiled so big his dimples nearly went all the way to his ears. “He’s my team leader.”

“Can you take me to him?”

“You aren’t going anywhere!” a female shouted.

Meg looked over Riley’s shoulder to see the hospital’s only nurse running down the hall. Dr. Hill was right behind her.

“What on earth are you doing?” the doctor asked.

“I was about to get some fresh air…” Meg began to say.

“You need to rest, Meg. Rest and heal,” Hill said.

She glanced back at Riley and he winked at her.

“You can’t see Beckham right now, anyway,” Riley said.

“Why not?”

“Because he’s about to leave for another mission.”

“He just got back,” Meg said, shocked.

“He’s Delta Force—and even if he wasn’t, that’s just how he is,” Riley said. “He won’t rest until there are no more missions.”

The clouds vanished as afternoon turned into evening. A carpet of blue stretched across the seemingly infinite sky. Warm, radiant rays sparkled over the waves below. The view was hypnotizing, and Fitz had a hard time leaving his guard post when his shift was up. If it weren’t for Lieutenant Colonel Jensen’s sharp voice barking in his headset, he would have kept staring.

“Fitz, report to command, ASAP,” Jensen said.

“Roger that, sir,” Fitz replied. He scoped the north with his MK11 one last time, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Truxtun , but only saw the vast blue of calm waters.

Fitz turned away from the view when he thought he heard a distant scream come from the sea. Imagined or real, it was time to get moving. He gritted his teeth and climbed the skeletal ladder to the beach. Each rung put pressure on his thighs, the muscles burning with every step. When he reached the bottom, he bent down to rub them and check his prosthetics. As he examined the carbon fiber blades, the voices of his fellow amputees back at Bragg came up from memory. They’d called each other Flex-Foot Cheetah and Blade Runner. Both were nicknames he’d never liked much. The legs didn’t define him; they only helped him get from point A to B, like a car. And he didn’t label his friends by what they drove.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead with a swipe of his palm and crouched down for a better look. There was a small dent on the right blade just above the curve. He reckoned it was the result of his fall the night before. A dark streak of blood that he couldn’t seem to wash off had settled in the indentation.

Fitz threw the strap of his rifle over his back. He stretched for several minutes by reaching down to his blades. When his muscles felt fresh, he took off running toward Building 1. Four soldiers were jogging across the concrete path ahead. He couldn’t help but wonder if Jensen was cooking something up. When he saw Beckham, Fitz knew the answer. Something was definitely happening.

So much for a nap, shower, and a shit.

“Master Sergeant!” he yelled.

Beckham halted at the base of the stairway to the command building while the other men continued inside. The operator’s face lit up the moment he laid eyes on Fitz.

“Fitz, good to see you,” Beckham said. He looked him up and down. “You look like hell, Marine.”

“Clearly you haven’t looked in a mirror lately,” Fitz replied with a chuckle.

They shook hands and fell quiet, the somber mood of the day taking over. Beckham looked away for a moment. Fitz could see the pain of a memory surfacing on Beckham’s mind. It was evident in his posture and critical stare.

“Sorry to hear about Jinx,” Fitz said.

“He was a good man,” Beckham replied.

Fitz didn’t know what to say, so he simply nodded and tried to stand as tall as he could despite the pain in his thighs and knees.

“Glad I caught you before going inside,” Beckham said. “I haven’t had a chance to thank you yet for saving the day here.”