Chapter 3
Bagram Airfield & F.O.B. Kilo
Rachel Parker adjusted her backpack until the weight settled into its usual spot between her shoulder blades.
The strap dug into the same place it always did, and she didn't bother trying to fix it anymore.
Ahead, the Black Hawk's rotors churned the air into chaos.
Rotor wash blasted sand into her face, hot wind coming from every direction at once.
She'd spent enough time in war zones that complaining about weather or sand felt pointless. Just part of the job now.
She ducked her head and walked straight into the gusts, boots crunching over gravel. Soldiers moved around her with quiet urgency she recognized, some focused and silent, others talking in that clipped, half-finished way people did when they'd been deployed too long.
Rachel climbed into the Black Hawk, boots thudding against metal. She slid into a seat along the bulkhead, the camera bag's strap brushing her calf as she settled. The vest pinched under her pack's weight, and she shifted, searching for comfort she knew she wouldn't find.
The weight against her thigh was a camera, not a rifle. Different tool, same danger. The men around her carried weapons to clear paths. She carried one to document what they walked through, the parts people back home never saw or understood.
The rotors deepened in pitch as the crew ran through preflight. Across from her, soldiers sat in a row with helmets on, rifles resting in their laps. Dirt streaked their faces, expressions unreadable behind tinted goggles.
Rachel studied them, wondering how they did it. How they stayed that still, that focused, when everything around them was actively trying to kill them.
She glanced at her watch out of habit. Another assignment.
Another few months in a place that would take something from her she wouldn't get back.
Her parents had never understood why she chose this over the tenure-track position waiting at Georgetown.
Safe office, predictable schedule, summers off.
Her mother still called every few weeks asking when she'd come to her senses.
But Rachel had tried the academic route. Had spent two years teaching undergrads who didn't want to be there, writing papers nobody would read, attending faculty meetings that made her want to scream. The field was different. The field mattered.
Or maybe she was just running. She'd never been sure which.
The Black Hawk lifted, its frame shuddering as they rose. Vibration rattled through the cabin, familiar and bone-deep. Bagram shrank beneath them, tan buildings turning into pale shapes. Beyond the wire, the land stretched endless, rock and sand, heat rippling across the horizon.
She looked through the open door, one hand drifting to her camera strap. Her fingers curled around the worn leather without thinking.
"First time in-country?"
She turned. A young soldier leaned forward, grin relaxed and easy despite everything beyond the bird.
"Not even close," she said.
He nodded like he'd expected that answer. "Makes sense. You've got that look."
She raised an eyebrow. "What look?"
"Like you've seen some shit and you're not gonna pretend you haven't."
Rachel exhaled, almost a laugh. "Yeah. That's one way to put it."
The helicopter banked. Ahead, a forward operating base took shape, blast walls and wire, tan on tan. Soldiers moved below in purposeful paths.
Rachel rolled her shoulders, letting the weight resettle.
New base, new unit. Same war with a different name.
She'd embedded with Marines in Fallujah, Army in Mosul, contractors in Syria.
SEALs would be different. Everything she'd read about Lieutenant Hayes suggested this embed wouldn't be like the others.
As the Black Hawk descended, heat rose in shimmering waves. F.O.B. Kilo sharpened into focus, Hesco barriers and concrete buildings, long shadows stretching across the ground.
The skids hit hard, jolting through her spine.
Dust surged as she unlatched her harness. She stood, grabbed her gear, and stepped into the wall of heat. Sweat broke immediately. Diesel fumes and dust clung to every breath.
A figure waited near the landing zone's edge. Tall, broad-shouldered, uniform streaked with dirt. His face was hard to read beneath his cap's brim.
"Rachel Parker?" he called over the wind.
She nodded. "That's me."
He stepped closer, offering his hand. "Sergeant Taylor. Welcome to Kilo."
His handshake was firm. She returned it and followed as he turned toward the base's center.
They walked past vehicles baking in the sun. Soldiers moved between buildings in constant flow. At the motor pool, two men argued over a stubborn engine, curses lost under generator rumble. Farther down, others strapped crates into a waiting transport. The rhythm never stopped.
Taylor kept a steady pace. "You'll be in here," he said, pulling open a prefab unit's door.
Rachel stepped inside. Four single cots, four lockers, four desks, a ceiling fan that might work on a good day. Not fancy, but solid. Better than some places she'd stayed.
"You've got it to yourself," he added. "Mess is three buildings down. Showers along the east wall. Learn the timing or you'll wait half your day."
He nodded toward her vest. "Keep that on outside. Doesn't matter how hot it gets. It stays on unless you're lying down."
Rachel gave a short nod, already mentally mapping where her gear would go.
Taylor checked his watch. "Ten minutes. Commander Anders wants you in his office."
She lifted an eyebrow. "Tight leash."
"That's what I told him." His voice stayed flat. "Straight down the main path. Left at the motor pool. Last door on the right. If you get turned around, ask someone who looks like they have time, not someone who looks busy."
Rachel smirked. "You think I'm going to get lost."
"I think you're not military," he said. "Most civilians wander until someone drags them to the right place."
She dropped her camera bag on the bed and checked the backup batteries in her vest. "Don't worry. I'll be on time."
Taylor gave a short nod and stepped back into the sunlight. "See you around, Parker."
Rachel rolled her shoulders, easing into the familiar weight. She grabbed her notebook, checked her camera, and stepped outside.
The heat hit like a physical blow. Sweat started immediately. Dust clung to her skin and boots. The entire base hummed, engines, shouted orders, the constant pulse of a place built to sustain war.
She moved quickly along Taylor's described path. Near the motor pool, Humvees sat in a long row, dust gathering in their seams. A squad jogged past, rifles bouncing against their chests as their sergeant barked cadence.
One soldier caught her eye as she passed. Tall, sleeves pushed up, showing off his arms. The smirk he flashed said he expected her to be impressed.
She let it slide off, kept her pace. Different base, same energy. Someone always wanted to test the new face.
The command office sat ahead, low and weathered, sandbags stacked along the foundation. A metal sign hung crooked over the doorway, rust eating the corners. Rachel adjusted her camera strap and ducked inside.
The air changed the second the door closed. The room was cramped, every wall covered with something important. Maps on the back wall. Papers scattered across the desk in organized chaos. A radio crackled from the corner. A coffee cup perched at the desk's edge.
Commander Anders sat behind the desk, eyes locked on a file. After a moment, he closed the folder and looked up.
"Parker."
She stepped forward and offered her hand. "Colonel."
He accepted with a single firm shake, then pointed to the chair opposite. Rachel sat straight-backed, meeting his gaze. She'd done this in more offices than she could count.
"I'll keep it simple," Anders said, voice level and shaped by years of command. "You're here to cover special operations. You've worked conflict zones, so I assume you know how not to get in the way. But this assignment isn't like the others."
Rachel nodded, holding his gaze. "I understand."
He tapped his pen once against the folder. The sound was quiet but carried weight. "You'll be embedding with SEAL Team Three. Direct action. Their CO is Lieutenant Logan Hayes."
Rachel's stomach tightened slightly. She'd read the name, the file, the commendations. Underneath was a pile of redacted notes not meant for public reports. The man had a reputation, brilliant operator, fiercely protective of his team, and about as welcoming to outsiders as a barbed wire fence.
"He's one of the strongest operators we have," Anders continued. "Quiet. Disciplined. Keeps his unit tight. Outsiders aren't his preference."
Rachel met his eyes. "Should I be worried?"
"Only if you make yourself a distraction." His tone stayed clipped. "His team follows him because he's earned their trust. You won't start with that advantage."
"I've worked with difficult units before," she said.
Anders didn't blink. "Then you know you'll have to prove yourself. Every day."
Rachel leaned in slightly. "How do I do that here?"
Something like a smile flickered across his face, though it never reached his eyes. "Stay out of their way. Do your job. Don't make me regret clearing you."
She exhaled slowly, unfazed. "Understood."
He checked his watch and closed the folder. "Hayes and his men are still out. They'll return late."
Rachel kept her voice even despite the flutter in her pulse. "When do I meet them?"
"Zero six hundred. Be ready."
She rose, nodded once, and stepped into the fading light. The sun had dropped behind the blast walls, but heat stayed thick, wrapping around her like a second vest. The base had shifted into evening rhythm. Soldiers moved toward the chow hall. Others checked weapons or nursed cigarettes in shadows.
Anders's warning echoed in her mind. They won't trust you.