Gentle Warrior (Brotherhood Protectors World)

Chapter 1

Moose’s phone buzzed relentlessly against his ribs—again.

Jim. Another missed call. He stared at the screen, heart sinking.

Two weeks in Oman had worn him thin, the desert’s empty silence broken only by the fading thwack of helicopter blades.

But none of that mattered now. Jim’s calls were never good news.

Not this many times in a row. Moose’s thumb hovered over the answer button, a sick knot tightening in his gut.

As soon as he picked up, everything would change.

The screen flashed a new message: Mikey. Nancy’s gone. Disappeared. Again. Moose cursed under his breath, stepping away from the others to call before they began unloading gear. “Jim,” he said, voice low but urgent. “What the hell is going on?”

The line crackled. Jim’s voice came through, rough and strained. “Mikey… she’s off again. Barn, fields, creek—I’ve searched everywhere. No sign.”

Moose ran a hand through his dusty hair, the weight settling harder. “When was the last time you saw her? Did she take off toward somewhere specific?”

Jim’s voice snapped with frustration, heavy with exhaustion.

“I saw her just before she took off again. I’ve been carryin’ her—damn near all my life, Mike.

I’m damn well tired. You’ve been off playing soldier all these years while I’m left here—trying to hold it together. It’s your turn now. She’s your Ma.”

Moose’s jaw tightened, fists clenching at his sides. An old, familiar knot twisted in his stomach—the weight of unspoken words and years of biting back. He said nothing. Growing up around Jim’s sharp edges had taught him silence was safer than resistance.

There was a long pause. Then Jim’s voice cracked, softened, almost ashamed. “Look, Mikey…I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to come down so hard. It’s just…it’s been hell, tryin’ to manage all this alone. I’m tired. I don’t know how to keep her safe no more.”

Moose swallowed the frustration rising inside him. “I know, Jim. It’s a lot. The Navy owns me till my enlistment’s up, but I’m doing all I can. I’m coming home as soon as I can. Just…give me some time.”

Moose’s mind churned with a storm of conflicting thoughts—frustration and guilt tangled with a stubborn spark of hope.

In the midst of the turmoil, one constant image cut through the noise: Bear.

He could almost see him now, calm and unshakable, the very core of their team’s strength when everything around them threatened to collapse.

Remembering Bear’s steady presence was like finding a lifeline in the chaos, and with it came a sudden clarity.

He thought of Warden, Bear’s chosen successor—a man forged in the same fires and tested under Bear’s watchful eye before taking the helm last year.

Bear had left the team in good hands, steady enough to carry the weight that Moose sometimes felt crushing.

That calm presence was a quiet reassurance amid the storm.

And then there was Link, the one who had walked away after Bear retired, drawn by something just as powerful as duty: family.

Moose pictured Link’s fierce loyalty to the team, mirrored in his adopted son, Samir.

It was a reminder that some battles were fought not on the battlefield, but at home.

Even absent, Link’s devotion echoed quietly in the team’s resolve—a legacy Moose carried with him.

“Jim, I’m calling Bear,” Moose said, voice firm. “He can get there faster than I can.”

“Bear? Your ol’ leader?” Jim asked, confused.

“Yeah. I’ll have him call you. I’m getting on a plane home as soon as we get to the States.”

He paused, his eyes scanning the team as they quickly loaded the gear. Bear’s strong and commanding presence, level-headed and determined, came to mind like a beacon. That thought gave Moose the resolve to reach out to the man who consistently kept his cool under pressure.

Warden, double-checking the manifest, looked up as Moose approached. There was no need for words; Moose could feel the silent understanding in Warden’s steady gaze. “Warden, I need to get home,” Moose said.

Without missing a beat, Warden gave a firm nod. “Already put in a word with Commander Michaels. There’ll be a plane waiting for you in Norfolk as soon as we land.”

Moose let out a slow, heavy breath as the weight of everything pressed deep into his chest. He met Warden’s unwavering eyes and offered a quiet, genuine “Thanks.” Warden’s calloused hand came down on Moose’s shoulder, the squeeze brief but charged with years of unspoken trust and loyalty—a lifeline in the chaos.

Moose clenched his jaw, emotion flickering for a moment beneath the surface before he let it go, replacing it with a faint, tired smile. “Glad you got my back.”

That simple phrase carried everything—relief, gratitude, and the unbreakable brotherhood forged on countless missions and harder days. In that silent exchange, Moose felt less alone.

Moose pulled his emotions back in check and let his gaze wander across the team, finding steady anchors in the familiar faces around him.

Dog’s hands worked with calm precision, packing gauze into his medical bag like a man who’d seen one too many close calls and wasn’t about to be caught unprepared again.

His gruff mutter about running dry wasn’t just habit; it was a mantra grounded in hard-earned caution.

Years ago, during a mission that went sideways in a remote area, Dog had faced the brutal consequences of running low on critical supplies.

They’d been pinned down, desperately treating wounded teammates as their medical stock dwindled to nothing.

The memory was etched deep—how every empty bandage container, every exhausted vial, had meant the difference between life and death.

Since then, Dog had never let his pack go dry; preparedness wasn’t just protocol, it was survival itself.

And that mindset had rubbed off on the rest of the team, shaping their every move in the field.

A few feet away, Nova sat cradling Mona, her sniper rifle, her fingers moving over the barrel with the tenderness of someone caring for a long-lost friend.

Moose admired how she treated that weapon—not as a tool, but as an extension of herself, the line between family and firepower blurred in her careful strokes and soft clicks of the safety switch.

Blast’s quiet song floated through the air, a stark contrast to the tension pressing down on them.

His upbeat melody was almost out of place, yet Moose knew it was Blast’s way of holding onto normalcy—a softer beat amid the storm.

There was something reassuring in that, an unspoken reminder that they weren’t just soldiers, but men trying to keep their souls intact.

Spider sat hunched over the comm station, fingers weaving effortlessly across the controls like a spider spinning its web. Moose had seen how Spider wove the team’s threads together in the chaos: the voices, the signals, the eyes in the sky. Without him, they might as well be blind.

These weren’t just teammates. They were the unyielding foundation beneath Moose’s armor—the reason he could face whatever came next.

Their seamless movements, shared glances, and unwritten trust all spoke volumes.

In this moment, as the desert sun dipped low, Moose felt the unbreakable bond that held them together; each one a lifeline, each step a promise that they’d watch each other’s backs, no matter what.

Cutting short his thoughts on his teammates, Moose slipped his phone from his pocket and dialed Bear’s number. The line crackled with static before Bear’s steady, sharp voice cut through.

“Kowalski.”

Moose pictured Bear on his back porch, Flora sitting nearby, the soft clink of a coffee cup breaking the quiet of the morning. So far away, while Moose stood on a sunbaked tarmac in the middle of the desert, weighed down by everything falling apart.

“Bear,” Moose said quietly, frustration threading through his voice. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots as if the words were caught somewhere. His shoulders sagged, heavy with a fatigue that went deeper than physical exhaustion.

“It’s me. Jim’s losing it. Mom’s gone again.” He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms as if trying to hold himself together. “I’m heading back, but I’m coming off a mission, and it’s a long trip—with a refuel stop in Norfolk.”

He swallowed hard, hoping Bear couldn’t catch the edge of panic bubbling beneath his tone.

There was a pause. Then Bear’s voice came steady but soft, catching the weariness Moose hadn’t meant to show. “Got it, Moose. You’re in a rough spot. We’ll handle things with Jim and keep looking for your mom. You just focus on getting back.”

Moose exhaled slowly, the tightness in his chest lingering.

He ran a hand over his face, eyes briefly closing in frustration before he spoke again.

“You know Nancy’s never been normal.” His voice cracked slightly, heavy with bitter resignation.

“The town’s always written her off as slow, maybe even demented. ”

The image of Jim flashed through Moose’s mind—sixty-three now, never known for patience, and growing grumpier and more short-tempered as the years and farm work took their toll.

Caring for Nancy had become an overwhelming challenge, pushing Jim further toward exhaustion.

Moose rubbed his temple, fighting back dizziness and the deep guilt gnawing at him.

“Jim’s exhausted. He’s never managed all of this well on his own.

And now…” His voice faltered under the weight of it all.

“I just—” The words caught in his throat, swallowed by the helplessness he felt for not being there when they needed him most.

Bear’s voice remained calm but firm. “I know your mom. Flora and I will take care of her. And I’m sure Commander Michaels has your travel covered. Stop letting the guilt get to you. Don’t worry about things here—we’ve got this.”