Chapter 1
LOGAN
L ogan Goodman stepped out of his truck and surveyed the plain brick building, heat settling over him like a heavy blanket.
He was used to humidity from his childhood in Florida, but the past few months in Georgia had taught him real summer misery.
At least now he had a different kind of heat to deal with, and he refused to think too far ahead about whatever came next.
He had enough on his mind just reporting in to his first real unit.
He took a quick glance at the glass door, making sure his uniform was squared away. Drill Sergeant habits died hard.
Before he could reach for the handle, a bald-headed man stuck his head out from an open window. “Hey, you the new private HQ warned us about?” The man’s rank patch showed he was a Specialist, and he seemed to have no problem leaning on sarcasm. “Get inside. The Major won’t wait all day.”
Logan hustled through the doorway into the company offices and introduced himself. “Logan Goodman,” he said, offering a folder. “Who do I give this to?”
“Me,” the Specialist replied, snatching the file. “Name’s Crews—company clerk, all-around fix-it guy. I keep this place running.” He paused, glancing over Logan’s paperwork. But before he could say more, a deep voice from a nearby office cut him off.
“Crews talks big,” came the voice, “but he usually causes more trouble than not.” The speaker was a tall, imposing man who had the air of authority and the label First Sergeant on his uniform. Logan snapped to parade rest by sheer instinct.
“At ease, Goodman,” the First Sergeant said with a small chuckle. “Let’s have you see the CO first. He’s got a meeting soon, so hurry up.”
Crews winked at Logan as the First Sergeant led him to a small office.
Major Kirk, the commanding officer, sat behind a plain desk.
His brown hair, bordering on a shaggy cut, made him look more like a laid-back coach than the crisp officers Logan had mostly seen at training.
A large West Point diploma hung on the wall, along with a black and gold Army jersey.
Something about the contrast of formality and relaxed style caught Logan off guard.
“Private First Class Logan Goodman, reporting,” Logan announced, saluting. The Major’s return was casual but precise, and he motioned for Logan to sit.
“Good to meet you, Goodman,” Major Kirk said. “You’re already a PFC, which tells me you’ve got some education under your belt.”
“Yes, sir. I have my bachelor’s in Mathematics from the University of Miami.”
“And you decided not to go officer route?”
Logan shrugged. “Didn’t know if I was joining the Army when I was in college. I ended up enlisting after realizing all the analyst jobs I was offered weren’t for me. Figured the Army would let me pay down loans and figure out my next step.”
“Fair enough,” Major Kirk said, checking his watch. “I’d love to chat more, but I’m short on time. First Sergeant will get you squared away, then we’ll introduce you to your immediate chain once everyone’s back from the range.” He turned toward the door. “Top!”
The First Sergeant appeared almost immediately. “Sir?”
“Put Goodman in second squad, third platoon, and see that he meets the key players tonight or tomorrow.” Major Kirk grabbed his patrol cap. “I have a briefing, so you have the house.”
“Hooah, sir,” the First Sergeant said, stepping aside. Logan followed him out to the parking lot, the midday sun baking the pavement. Once they were outside, the First Sergeant set a brisk pace down the sidewalk.
“Listen up,” he said, barely glancing back.
“You can call me Top eventually, but not yet. We belong to a specialized infantry battalion, the kind that gets called when the Army needs rapid response. Charlie Trey-Trey ain’t like your typical infantry unit.
We tailor our missions to whatever the brass wants, from small teams to full company operations.
You’ll learn the details as you go, one day at a time. ”
“Yes, First Sergeant.”
“You airborne-qualified?”
“Yes, First Sergeant. I just haven’t sewn on my wings yet.”
“Don’t worry about it. Our CO doesn’t like extra flair on daily uniforms. You’ll wear them on your dress uniforms. We might send you to Air Assault soon.
As you’ve probably noticed, the Major’s more relaxed than some officers you’ve seen.
That’s the way we do things here, efficient and a little outside the box, but still disciplined at heart. ”
They stopped at the dining facility, a clean, industrial-looking space with white walls and polished metal rails on the serving line. The First Sergeant hollered for a man named Nakamura, who emerged from the back. He wore square-rimmed glasses and sported a friendly grin.
“It’s up to you to get Goodman set up in the barracks,” the First Sergeant told Nakamura. “He’s yours until third platoon wraps up at the range. Don’t let him wander off.”
With that, the First Sergeant headed out, leaving Logan with Nakamura. They left the dining hall and returned to the parking lot, where Nakamura asked which vehicle belonged to Logan.
“That truck there,” Logan said, pointing. “I swapped my car for it after college.”
“Smart move. A lot of new soldiers blow their money on something flashy. Then they can’t afford the insurance or the gas.” He led Logan across the lot, weaving between vehicles. “After we see your new room, I’ll grab registration info for your base tag. Easy process, so no worries.”
Logan followed him to a brown building a short distance away. Climbing to the second floor, Nakamura opened one of the doors, revealing a small common area with two bedrooms branching off.
“We lucked out because these used to be officer quarters,” Nakamura said with a laugh. “It’s a big step up from the typical open-bay barracks. Still, there are rules. No hooking up in these rooms. That’s a hard line. You want to get intimate, you do it elsewhere. Understood?”
“Yes, Sergeant.”
“Good. Get your gear and settle in. I’ll handle your paperwork.”
Logan went to his truck and grabbed his duffel. He’d barely lifted it when a sharp female voice barked, “Drop it, Goodman!”
He dropped the bag and snapped to attention before he even registered who was speaking. A short, muscular woman with Sergeant stripes came closer, accompanied by a bald Sergeant First Class whose name tape read Lincoln.
“Nice reflexes,” Sergeant Lincoln said with an amused grin. “What do you think, Adams?”
Sergeant Adams circled Logan like a lioness with fresh prey. “I think he’s new enough to still smell like Benning,” she said dryly, then spotted the subtle tailoring of his uniform. “Hollywood, you been fancying up your ACUs?”
Logan swallowed. “Had them adjusted a bit, Sergeant.”
She shook her head. “Great. Another showpiece. Listen up, Hollywood. I’m your fire team leader, which means I’m basically your mama now, but I’m not cuddly. We do a lot of small-team ops, so being a legit badass isn’t optional. You think you can handle that?”
“Yes, Sergeant,” Logan said, meeting her stare.
“We’ll see. Tomorrow’s PT? Obstacle course. Let’s hope you didn’t eat too many donuts on leave. Carter!” she called out, and a tall man jogged over. “Your new roommate’s here. Make sure he knows where to be and when.”
Just then, the base loudspeaker sounded Retreat. Everyone paused, faced the direction of headquarters, and saluted. When the ceremony ended, Adams gave Logan a final glare. “Don’t get comfortable.”
She and Sergeant Lincoln left, and Carter introduced himself with a chuckle. “Don’t mind M-M—Muscle Mommy,” he said, joking about Adams. “She’s tough, but as long as you keep up, she’ll have your back. I’m Carter Max, by the way, from Valdez, Alaska.”
“Logan Goodman. Florida.” They shook hands before Carter helped him carry his gear upstairs.
Logan soon learned the reason there was an open spot on Adams’s team. Carter’s previous roommate had been shipped out because, as Carter put it, “Adams said he was deadwood. You’re starting behind the eight ball, Holly wood .” Logan wondered if he’d stick around long enough to lose that nickname.
* * *