On Your Six

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

HUDSON

Hudson Hale had earned the right to be here.

That was what he kept telling himself, standing at attention in freezing Montana while the wind came off the peaks in long, flat gusts that found every gap in his gear. Mountains pushed up on three sides, looming over him with a complete indifference to his ambitions.

Four years in the Army. Six months of pre-Selection. Three rounds of physical testing and a psych eval where some guy had asked him, with a straight face, whether he heard voices. He had even broken up with his girlfriend, Julie, upon coming here.

He’d made it. He was focused. He was ready.

So were twenty-nine other soldiers freezing their balls off. Thirty candidates in total. Twenty spots by the end of Selection. Hudson had never been particularly great at math, but even he knew those were pretty decent odds.

Master Sergeant Chen paced the line without looking at anyone directly. Broad-shouldered and in his mid-fifties, with the kind of thousand-yard stare that made you wonder what he’d seen. His boots hit the frozen mud in the same measured rhythm every step, as if he had all the time in the world.

“Listen up.” Chen’s voice carried without him raising it. “You wouldn't be standing here if you weren’t among the best.” His eyes swept the line. “But that means dick. Ten of you will still fail.”

Hudson kept his breathing steady, shoulders squared but not stiff, hands loose at his sides.

Still, decent odds.

"Twelve weeks," Chen continued. “Only the top twenty get special ops assignments. Delta. Special Forces. 160th SOAR.” His lips tightened into a straight line. “Assignments that matter."

Hudson wanted top twenty.

Except that was a lie—he wanted top three.

No. Screw it—he wanted to be number one.

Badly.

He'd spent four years working toward this, and he wasn't about to settle for second-tier assignments because he couldn't handle twelve weeks of pressure.

Chen’s voice dropped. "This is not Basic Training. This is not Ranger School. This is not me holding your hand while you figure out if you’ve got what it takes.” His gaze cut across them. "Selection starts now. Any questions?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Good. Let’s move on.”

Chen stepped back, and Sergeant Kowalski stepped forward. He was shorter than Chen but twice as intimidating, with a Chicago accent and a face that instantly made you want to stand up straighter.

“Navigation exercise. Four hours. Teams of two. You have one map: figure it out," Kowalski announced, glancing at his clipboard. “When your name is called, step to the side and get your gear.”

Too focused on his own name being called, Hudson barely processed the pairings.

“Lieutenant Hale. Lieutenant Shaw."

Hudson's head snapped up.

A guy two spots to his left stepped forward at the same time he did. He was tall, about Hudson’s height but leaner, dark hair cut short, defined profile. Everyone around him was fighting the cold in some small way, but this guy didn’t seem to.

They fell into step beside each other without a word, heading toward the table where Chen was handing out materials. The mud crunched under their boots.

“Hale,” Hudson said, extending his hand.

The guy shot him a brief, dismissive look. “Shaw.”

Hudson waited for more. A hand. A first name maybe. A nod. Something.

Nothing came.

Okay then.

When they got to the table, Hudson reached for the map and compass because that was what he did—he led, people followed.

The compass was heavier than it seemed, cold enough that he felt it through his gloves.

Shaw leaned in without being invited, so close Hudson caught the steadiness of his breathing.

"We cut east first." Hudson tapped the map. "Faster terrain."

Shaw studied it for half a second, then shook his head. "Southwest."

Hudson didn’t love being second-guessed, especially not by someone he’d known for approximately four minutes. “East is faster.”

“Early on. We’ll lose it later." Shaw’s eyes stayed on the map. “Southwest.”

Damn it. Hudson scanned the terrain again, like a second pass might prove the guy wrong. It didn’t. Shaw was right, and the worst part was he couldn't even argue without sounding like an idiot.

“Southwest,” Hudson said reluctantly. “Fine.”

Nodding once, Shaw started walking.

At mile one, Hudson veered left without warning. Shaw didn’t say a word, just adjusted his stride and followed.

“You always let someone else navigate?” Hudson prodded.

Nothing.

“Cool. Great. Love that for us.”

Hudson pushed the pace harder. His lungs burned. Shaw's breathing, on the other hand, didn't change.

At mile two, Hudson cut right, deliberately taking them through rougher terrain. Rocks, uneven ground, patches of ice. Shaw's boots found purchase every time, movements economical, while Hudson felt himself working twice as hard.

"Are you even going to look at the map?" Hudson asked.

“Not everyone has to study the map four times.” Shaw's voice came back level. Not even winded.

Well… he had nothing to say to that.

By mile three, Hudson stopped pretending he wasn't testing boundaries. He cut sharply uphill. Shaw followed without breaking stride, which was genuinely annoying. Hudson doubled back, cutting across their own trail. Shaw tracked the move, registered it, and kept quiet.

Hudson had expected pushback. Some sign that Shaw gave a shit about who was calling the shots. That was how it worked; you tested each other, figured out the hierarchy, moved on. But Shaw didn’t engage, which was somehow worse than if he’d gotten pissed.

By the end of the last mile, Hudson gave it one last shot, determined to get under Shaw’s skin. “Was this as good for you as it was for me?”

Shaw considered it for a second. “No.”

Despite all Hudson’s shenanigans, they finished early.

Master Sergeant Chen paused mid-note and glanced between them, as if he was trying to figure out if they had cheated or if they were that good. Hudson took it as a win, because Chen's suspicious face was probably the closest thing to praise they'd get.

Chen nodded and walked away. Hudson rolled his shoulders until something popped, then bent to stretch his hamstrings. He was definitely going to pay for that pace tomorrow.

"So... we made a pretty good team back there.” Hudson straightened and shoved his hand through damp hair. There was no teamwork in what they just did and they both knew it.

"We finished on time."

"Early. We finished early."

"That's what on time means, here."

Hudson snorted. "Man, you are determined not to enjoy this, aren't you?"

Shaw finally looked at him. "I'm not here to enjoy things."

"Yeah, I'm getting that."

Chen’s voice cut through before Shaw could respond—if he was even going to. "Hale, Shaw. Again tomorrow."

Hudson flashed him a mischievous grin as he began walking backwards. "See you tomorrow, partner."

Shaw's mouth shifted into the smallest hint of a smile. The kind that meant he’d already decided he was going to win whatever this was. Hudson had worn the exact one himself enough times to know.

Yeah. Game on.

That night, he lay in his bunk in the dark barracks, thirty candidates packed into rows of metal-frame beds that creaked every time someone shifted. It smelled stale and sweaty despite the industrial soap they’d scraped out of the dispensers. Eau de militaire. Real attractive.

Hudson stared at the underside of the mattress above him, waiting for his brain to let him sleep.

When it didn’t, he closed his eyes and saw Shaw’s stride on that last uphill. The way he’d moved like the terrain was a minor inconvenience. Hudson had been working for it, but Shaw—Shaw seemed just fine. Like he could do all of this in his sleep.

Great. Now he was lying awake thinking about another guy’s cardiovascular fitness. This was a new low even for him.

Training was supposed to burn everything down to instinct, not leave him cataloging some stranger’s lung capacity late at night.

"Hey, Hale." Reed's voice came from the neighboring bunk, low enough not to carry. "Day one down. Only eighty-three more to go."

Hudson huffed out a quiet laugh. Reed had been his bunkmate the last year in 2nd Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment. The guy always had his back when Hudson's mouth got him into trouble, which happened more often than he would like to admit. "You counting already?"

"Damn right I'm counting." He chuckled. “How'd those weak-ass arms hold up during the warm-up plank?"

Hudson grinned into the dark. "Better than yours, apparently. Heard you wheezing like an old man."

"Fuck off. I wasn't wheezing."

"Dude, I could hear you from five spots over. Sounded like you were dying."

"That was tactical breathing."

"Tactical my ass."

Reed snorted and lowered his voice. "Yeah, well, at least I didn't get stuck navigating with Robot Boy all day. How was that?"

"Shaw?" Hudson shrugged in the darkness. "Fine. We finished early."

"Did he say anything at all?"

"Not really."

"See?" Reed shifted, bed frame groaning. "Pretty sure the guy runs on batteries."

"He's just focused."

"Focused is one word for it." Reed yawned. "Anyway. Glad it's you dealing with him and not me. Night, man."

"Night."

Down the aisle, Shaw rolled over in his bunk. Springs creaked, fabric rustled. Then, because apparently Hudson couldn't help himself, he said into the dark, "Hey, Shaw."

Silence stretched. Long enough that Hudson wondered if maybe he'd gotten the wrong bunk, or maybe Shaw was already asleep—or maybe he was being ignored. Again.

"What." Flat acknowledgment. No question mark in his tone. Guess he got the right bunk after all.

Hudson grinned. "You know, most people at least pretend to be friendly on day one."

Another pause. "I am being friendly."

Hudson barely muffled his laugh. "Jesus. What does unfriendly look like then?”

"You don't want to know."

He snorted. "Seriously, though. You always this much fun, or am I special?"

"You talk enough for both of us."

"Yeah, I've been told that before." Hudson waited for Shaw to say something else—anything else—but it seemed like he had said his piece and was now done with this conversation. "You gonna be like this the whole twelve weeks?"

"Like what?”

"Boring."

This time the pause lasted even longer. Hudson thought Shaw had decided to ignore him, write him off as not worth the effort. Then, quiet and dry as dust: "I'm here to graduate top of the class, not entertain you."

Hudson's grin widened. There it was. "Top of the class, huh?"

"That's the plan."

"Hate to break it to you, but that spot's already taken."

"By you?" Shaw didn’t even try to hide it. Hudson caught the flat disbelief in his voice and honestly, he kind of liked it.

"Yeah."

"We'll see."

A line had been drawn. Now it was just a matter of seeing who crossed it first.

Hudson rolled onto his side, still grinning.

This was going to be a long twelve weeks.