Chapter 1
Two Years Ago
Outside the Wire, Bagram, Afghanistan
Prologue
Two Years Ago
Outside the Wire, Bagram, Afghanistan
The sleek, sexy body sailed through the air, effortless in its raw intensity to catapult itself across the sun-heated desert at the fleeing form.
Muscles defined and rippling spoke of the relentless training and pace kept to maintain readiness.
With a thud that knocked the breath from her intended target, Marvel K027 sank her teeth into the arm of her target.
That thousand pounds of pressure locked in place, she landed.
Skidded around without breaking her hold and snapped that powerful neck in a jerk that pitched the target down.
Sergeant Crew Gatlin sprinted toward the seventy-five-pound Belgian Malinois, noting Marine Corporal Ehretz, weapon tucked to his shoulder and sights trained on the target, skirting up around the front. They’d been on routine patrol when the unfriendlies started firing on them.
Crew reached Marvel, caught her collar and held firmly—though did not instruct her to release.
“Drop the weapon,” Ehretz demanded of the combatant as Mouse and Taco flanked him, weapons trained on the local fighter who’d tried to take potshots at the team that’d been patrolling the area.
Boots dug in, Crew clipped the lead on as he held onto Marvel’s collar, proud the military working dog had done her job with fervor.
The target tried to hit Marvel with a rifle, but the Malinois snapped her head, side to side.
Dug her paws against the arm, trying to extract a chunk of flesh as punishment.
The man howled and went to his knees. Adrenaline and pain were likely interfering with his ability to make smart choices, but Crew willed him to let go of the weapon.
Blood slid along her jowls and down that powerful corded neck.
Finally, the rifle clattered to the hardpacked earth.
“Marvel, out!” In tandem with the command, Crew drew Marvel’s collar straight up, a move that encouraged her to release the arm by restricting her airflow, a measure that invariably forced her to unlock her jaws.
The man broke free with a yelp and scrambled away, shielding his arm, and trying to put as much distance between himself and the fur-missile.
Crew drew Marvel away, though she resisted, eager for another chance to eliminate a threat. The girl was as hard-hitting as many of the elite operators they’d worked with.
Crack!
Thwat-thwat-thwat!
Pivoting, Crew was about to release Marvel when he registered the scene before him—the target was now deceased.
Taco was cursing up a storm as he held his arm.
The local must’ve had another weapon, and rather than die of humiliation in an American holding cell, he chose death by operator.
A request granted by Taco and a short burst from his M4.
With no apparent threat present, Crew deployed the tethered Kong and let Marvel snag it from him.
He gave a couple of good tugs to let her know she’d done a good job, then produced her black Kong.
When he showed it to her, she immediately released the roped one, and he flicked the rubber chew toy into the air.
Effortlessly, she launched upward, her muscular, well-toned body violence in motion, and snagged it from the air.
She landed, chomped it twice, then trotted to the side and dropped to the ground where she crossed her forelegs, and squeaked her reward.
Crew let her, knowing the team would need to call this in.
Ehretz muttered an oath. “Let’s load up and head out.”
Crew frowned. “You mean, let’s call this in—”
“Hassle, man,” Ehretz grumbled. “I just—”
Gaze locked with the corporal, Crew keyed his mic. “Base, this is Charlie Four on patrol with your recon team alpha. Situation now secure, but we came under fire. One enemy target neutralized. We’ll need clean up. Sending location now.”
“Good copy, Charlie Four,” came the reply through comms.
“What was that?” Ehretz demanded, stalking toward Crew. “I said—”
Marvel swiveled into position, head down, lip curled around the snarl that told the Marine to back off.
Hand up in surrender, Ehretz shifted backward with a nervous grunt. “I said we’d leave it—”
“I’m not letting some Marine grunts derail my career because they don’t want to be hassled with protocol.” Crew felt the same curl to his lip that Marvel still held. No wonder the guy was still a corporal ponying his rank around newbs on their first deployment.
“You need to remember you’re assigned to this team. You follow—”
“Don’t.” Crew flatlined his expression. “Don’t go there, or you’ll be eating your stripes for dinner.”
The ruddy-faced kid faltered. Couldn’t be more than twenty-five.
Maybe a hundred pounds dripping wet, trying to engage in a manhood battle with an operator who had ten years, multiple deployments, and more kills than he wanted to admit.
No way he was going to let a punk like this tank his career because he was too freakin’ lazy to follow protocol.
“Whatever, man,” Ehretz growled. “Load up. We’re checking out the field two klicks north.”
Two klicks…Crew glanced in that direction. A hill blocked his view. “That area’s off limits.” He started back to the mine-resistant ambush protected vehicle to let Marvel enjoy the A/C.
Ehretz rolled his eyes and stomped back to the MRAP with the others.
“Hey,” Taco said as he hung back. “Don’t let him get under your tac vest. He’s just jealous—dude wanted to be a handler like you. Couldn’t get in.”
Jealousy? Seriously? What was this, middle school?
Minutes later, they were packed like sardines in the MRAP and he sat with his legs V’d and Marvel between them.
Her fur radiated the heat of the Afghan summer as she panted heavily.
He’d need to water her and make sure she got some A/C time.
Maybe do that while Ehretz and the team broke protocol yet again by scouting the off-limits area.
What am I doing here, man?
He’d transitioned to handling a K-9 within Special Forces teams, but he’d been pulled in for yearly qualifications again.
To keep Marvel fresh and vary her experience, he’d requested a couple of routine patrol opportunities.
But it sucked being stuck with a corporal who had a thirst for power. He missed the teams, his buddies.
Missed Havoc. He grinned, patting Marvel. While the dog at his feet was pure violence and raw power, she’d been bred for that. Malinois were little more than psycho and all business. But Havoc on the other hand…
Years ago, rumor told of a stray hanging around the base that had been mated by an MWD.
Breedings weren’t allowed outside the strict military confines of the DOD breeding program, but the SEALs handling the sire thought it funny.
Made lewd comments. The dam delivered six pups… Havoc being one of them.
At least, that was the story. Crew met the thick-chested, goober of a dog when the Malinois was about two years old. Assigned to Bagram, he saw the dog all the time. Even off base. Knew better than to befriend a stray, but the dog wouldn’t leave him alone.
One day, Crew noticed possible blood and realized the dog had been shot.
He’d put his field vet training to work and operated on the eighty-something pound dog.
Took care of him. Fattened him up—well, really, just got him less-scrawny.
And that dog turned into one of the most beautiful working dogs he’d ever encountered.
On medical hold with a torn meniscus, Crew spent his downtime with Havoc.
Fed him. Trained him. The dog was lethal-loyal.
Military refused to let Crew run him through certifications, though.
Told him to focus on the dog assigned to him—Marvel. Sexy girl that she was.
Crew smoothed a hand over her sleek skull, and she lifted her jaw straight up, to look at him…upside down. “Psycho.”
At the affectionate misnomer, she thudded her tail hard against the steel deck.
The MRAP lumbered offroad and angled down.
Through the narrow slats-for-windows, the terrain made itself known.
Hard to tell for user in an armored personnel carrier, but it seemed this was a bowl, a valley.
The thought made his gut churn. Not a great position for them since they were apparently on the floor of said valley.
Crew had a bad feeling about this. “Ehretz,” he shouted toward the front where the leader sat right, front. “I need to get Marvel back. She’s overheating.” It was a partial truth. She was hot—most MWDs were in the Afghani heat.
“After this,” Ehretz barked back. “Everyone out.”
This guy was looking to get killed. “This isn’t smart—”
“What’s not smart is disobeying my orders.”
“Despite your ego, Ehretz, I do not answer to you. I’m tasked to this patrol, but I will not do anything that puts my super”—he nodded to Marvel, who was one rank higher than him as rules stipulated—“in danger.”
“Then stay here, you whining pansy.”
Don’t. Don’t do it. Killing a corporal wasn’t a good way to end your career.
Maybe, but it’d feel good.
“Do you need some crayons to find your way back?” Crew regretted saying it as soon as the words escaped his lips. He wouldn’t get in trouble—much—but it wouldn’t help the situation here.
In response, Ehretz cut the engine on the MRAP.
Which meant Crew had to bail with Marvel or they’d get baked alive waiting for the team to return.
“Your funeral,” Crew muttered. “Marvel outranks everyone here, and you’ll get dereliction of duty for letting a superior die when you could’ve prevented it. ”
“If you’re so worried about how your career ends, then I suggest you not be found guilty.”
I’m going to kill him.
Instead, Crew took a moment to let Marvel get some water, rustled the thick fur along her neck, and sighed. “You can rip out his throat any time you want. Okay, girl?”
Marvel stood, tail wagging her whole backend. If Havoc were here, he’d have gone for the kill.