Chapter One
Blade
C hoking in my service dress blues, I fucking stood there.
One by one, the fuckers on his Team removed their Tridents from their uniforms and pounded them onto the casket.
Another half a dozen Team guys I served with followed.
Then I didn’t have an excuse not to move.
Stepping up to the goddamn box, I looked down.
Twenty-one Tridents and an EOD pin glinted in the sun against the high-gloss wood.
Church would’ve fucking hated this.
Not that it mattered what the hell he’d wanted. Now or thirty-two years ago. Our lives and deaths were planned before we hit the womb.
We were battle born.
Raised with one goal.
Earn the Trident.
Be that warrior.
Loyalty beyond reproach. Humbly serve as guardian. Character, honor, uncompromising integrity. Control your emotions. Welfare and security of others before your own. Accept the responsibility .
Earn that privilege every goddamn day.
Train for war. Fight to win. Protect your teammates. Be stronger than your enemies. Accomplish the mission. Do not fail.
And never fucking quit.
Never quit .
Removing my Trident from my uniform and slamming it down on the casket, I silently cursed the SEAL Ethos. “Fuck you, Church.” I pounded the pin into the wood with my fist, barely refraining from calling him a fucking quitter. “Never out of the fight.” You were supposed to get back up, goddamn it.
Never out of the fucking fight.
I slammed my fist one more time over the medal. “Till Valhalla, brother.”
My former Team leader’s hand landed on my shoulder. “Blade.”
“Fuck off.” Turning away from the bullshit funeral and that goddamn casket, I walked the hell away.