Paragon (Paragon Operations #1)

Ten Years Ago

Bravo

Operation Desert Force.

Location classified.

“Northwest corner of the building, retreat, retreat, retreat,” Alpha ordered through comms.

Hostile gunfire rang out across the compound.

Dragging the hostage, Zulu hit Alpha’s position first. Firing in short bursts, Echo and Delta followed. Crouched low, I brought up the rear, but the last damn place we needed to be holding was against this blown-out pile of rubble.

Reserving ammo, I scanned through my scope, then spared a glance at our Team leader and my best friend, Alpha. “What are we waiting for?” We’d taken down our target, we had the hostage, our mission was complete.

“Intel from Command.” Alpha nodded toward building two. “Possible second HVT.”

“No easy day.” Smirking at the irony, I turned toward the building and threw Zulu a command before Alpha could stop me. “Cover me, Zulu.”

He dropped and sighted. “Copy that.”

Alpha spoke to overwatch through his direct comm link, then ordered me to stand down. “Hold position, Bravo. Waiting on sitrep from Command.”

“I’ll get the intel sooner,” I argued. “Sixty seconds. One sweep, and I’ll know who we’re after.” This terrorist cell had been swarming their leaders. It’s how we got the first HVT. One minute of recon, and I’d know exactly who the second target was.

“Wait,” Alpha commanded.

Shots flew over our heads, the hostage hit the dirt, and Delta and Echo returned fire.

“We don’t have time to wait.” This mission was already jacked—insertion had been delayed, dawn broke, the compound was teaming with tangoes. We needed to bug out.

Rounds from an incoming convoy with a roof-mounted belt-fed rained down on our POS, punctuating my thoughts as the hostage took one in the leg.

Alpha’s usually guarded expression twisted with anger. “I’m going in. You and Zulu cover me.”

Not fucking happening. We had a deal. Alpha was Team leader, I was tip of the spear. That was how we operated best. “I got this.” I held up my fist. “Relay the intel from Command when you get it, and remember the promise.” Always the promise.

Alpha fist-bumped me, and recited our deal. “I promise I’ll take care of her if you kick down your last door.” Her being my younger sister. Dead parents, no living relatives, Maila was all I had left. She and Alpha.

“You better,” I warned. “Or I’ll come back and beat your ass before kicking your ass.” Already Oscar Mike, I hit the southeast side of the building and kicked the door in.

Sweeping to clear entry, I made it one step inside.

Then the world detonated.

The explosion deafening, the blastwave threw me. My back hit hard ground, my chest compressed, pain flared. A wall of fire roared.

Shit fell on top of me. My vision tunneled.

And darkened….

Hands gripped my ankles.

Jerked forward, pain radiated. Sucking in smoke and dust, I reached for my weapon.

My wrists were grabbed.

Kicking out, I yelled. “Alpha!”

Flames swamped me.

I was lifted off the ground.

I fucking fought.

A face got in mine. Ops Core FAST helmet, rail system, night vision, tactical lights. Mouth open. Fucker yelling. Everything ringing. Camo. Uniform. One of us. One of us.

I stopped fighting.

Started reading lips.

Couldn’t.

Fire. Smoke. Pain.

Dragged backwards.

Lights out….

Bounced.

Sucked in breath. Fucking ribs killing. Bounced again. Same fucker in my face. Mouth open. Saying shit. Ringing.

Goddamn fucking ringing.

Hard bounce.

Out.

Jostled.

Slow exhale. Slower inhale.

Awake.

Fuck, awake. My Team. My weapon.

Eyes open.

Dark. Hum. Helo. No…. Transport?

Where the fuck was my Team?

Where was my weapon?

“He’s awake.”

English. American accent.

Exhale. Turn head.

Cargo. Transport. Ranger fuckers lined up, kitted out. No Team. “Where’s my Team?” Throat raw. Cough.

Same fucker from before. In my face again. Weird eyes. Insane eyes. Green? No. Gold. Not kitted up. Not in Army camo. MARPAT cammies. Desert version. Marine.

I moved.

Fisting the fucker’s blouse, I yanked him toward me. “Where the fuck is my Team?”

“You have a call.” He shoved something in front of me.

Sat phone. No Alpha. No Team. What the fuck? “TEAM,” I demanded.

“CALL,” he ordered.

Phone in face.

Sat up. Grabbed it. “Alpha?”

The line crackled. Click sounded. Then, “Son. While we have not spoken directly in years, I trust you know who this is. For the sake of national security, keep that fact to yourself.”

My head fucking spun.

Team not here. Operators I didn’t know. On a C-130 transport, when our exfil was helo.

Shit sank in.

I replied. “Yes, sir.”

“Apologies for the explosion. Rest assured, your Team is intact, but maneuvers had to be made. I know this was not the career trajectory you imagined. Hell, it wasn’t what I imagined for you either when I met you long before your father was the Vice Admiral and I was in office. Unfortunately, we’re here now.”

Where the fuck was here? “Sir?”

“I need someone I can trust. Your father, may he rest in peace, assured me before he passed that you would be the right man for the job.”

Years-old memory popped. My father. Hand on my shoulder. Newly pinned Trident on my chest.

“You’re not the best man, son, but you’re the right man. Remember that.”

I replied automatically to the Commander in Chief. “Yes, sir.”

“Excellent. Before we start, I also apologize for the manner of your extraction and minor injuries. We had to make it believable beyond a reasonable doubt. You understand.”

My brain still fucking scrambled from the explosion, I shook my head. “Sir?”

“Your death, son.”

Gut punched.

Sat phone in hand, my head sank to my knees.

The Commander in Chief delivered his orders.

“Petty Officer Second Class William Nilsen is officially deceased. Your new call sign is Phoenix. You report directly and only to me. Your missions will come through direct communication from either myself or Ground Branch. You’ll operate independently.

You’ll have every resource at my disposal available to you through indirect channels, but you do not exist. Not to the Oval Office, not to this administration, not to the United States of America. Are we clear?”

Motion sickness I’d never had crawled up my throat. “Yes, sir.”

“Questions?”

“My sister.” My seventeen-year-old sister. Who had no one except me.

“She’ll be taken care of. Her future is assured.”

Not good enough. “With all due respect, sir, she needs to know I’m alive.”

“Son.” There was an impatient exhale. “You know that’s neither prudent nor secure, for her sake. Understood?”

In that moment, I didn’t care. This was my sister we were talking about.

But this wasn’t about me.

I knew who I was speaking with. Who my father had been. There was never going to be a choice. This was honor. Duty. I’d taken an oath.

I will obey the orders of the President of the United States.

“Yes, sir.”