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Myles continued to seem disengaged, and it caught Priest’s eye.

“Myles, what is it? You’re part of this team, so out with it, son.”

Myles slowly raised his head.

“I froze. I didn’t even get a shot off. I just sat there and watched the whole thing go down. Watched people running toward us, screaming and screeching. I just sat there and did nothing. They could have over-run us.”

Priest walked over to him and put his hand on his shoulder.

“You covered my ass a couple weeks ago in Afghanistan. You didn’t hesitate at all. What makes this so different?” Priest asked with concern, causing the lines on his face to deepen.

“I don’t know. I guess you can put a face on your enemies that looks the same most of the time. I can look at them with the same clothes, same weapons and the same purpose. Which is to destroy us. B-b-but these were regular women and men. No AK-47’s to recognize, no matching uniforms or head coverings. They all had different clothes and I could see their faces were different. With that blood all over their face, the normal picture of the enemy was not what I was seeing out there. It just wasn’t the same.” Myles said with a far-off look in his eyes. Like he was replaying the scene in his head.

Shaw shook his head, “We don’t know where this shit is going to lead. We know the virus and all the other personnel were gone. If this isn’t over, and my gut tells me it ain’t, then we are going to be dealing with a lot more people just like those.”

Myles looked around at the rest of the team, and a look of resolve flashed across his face.

He nodded his head, “I got it. Understood. I’m good to go.” Myles said confidently.

Priest slapped him on the shoulder, and they started walking again.

“Believe me, Myles. We are all confused as fuck and we are just as worried as you are. We would be stupid if we weren’t. However, we’ll get through this together. Reapers always do. HUA!”

“HUA, Sarge!” Myles repeated.

“Out-fucking-standing.” Priest joked.

It was 09:30 when Priest completed his debrief to command. Four hours of recollection, combat analysis, various questions, and repeats of the same information had him exhausted. They hadn’t let him eat, sleep, shit or shower since they had returned to base. It was old news to him; he had been here a hundred times before. With as many missions as he’d been on, this was just part of doing business.

Webb jogged up to him, “You finished?”

“Yeah, feel like something the cat dragged in and then threw underneath the refrigerator.”

Webb laughed. He always like Priest’s humor. He looked at him and could tell Priest was almost dead on his feet.

Priest was shorter than Marcus Webb, only about 5’10” or so. Priest was normally clean shaven, bald most of the time, unless out on a mission for an extended period. Priest kept a gray beard, about 3 to 4 inches below his chin. His call sign being “Father” suited him well. They gave him that call sign as a play of words with his last name, “Priest.” Priest had blue eyes that seemed kind and evil at the same time. It just mattered on which Priest you came across.

Webb had met Priest on another mission, about three or four years ago. The Special Operations were re-orging and were merging into several teams and different MOS’s. Webb had completed various tours in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Priest was older and had spent time all over the world. Even places the regular public did not realize conflicts were even happening. He had served in the Philippines, South America, Somalia, Yemen, and the list went on and on. They had pulled Webb into the SPO with basically no direction. Command knew they needed people, and Webb’s resume was impressive. He was young for a captain, so most of the teams didn’t want to work with him.

SPO worked differently than the rest of the military, and their enlisted teams had the stroke and set their own rules. All teams had to have an officer or officers as part of the team for command continuity issues.

They had given Priest, Webb’s DD214, and many of his evaluations. Priest was impressed with Webb’s credentials and could decipher an ass kisser from a hard charger. The first time they met, Priest introduced himself, and they went to have a beer. The rest they say is history, and Webb had been in command of the Light Reapers Team since that day.

Priest admired Webb. He like that Webb didn’t play the race card, didn’t use his childhood or upbringing as an excuse for anything. He just busted his ass and worked hard, gaining Priest’s respect and loyalty. Hell, he had respect from the entire team.

Priest knew Webb had it hard growing up in inner city Philadelphia. Webb had talked a lot about his family and upbringing whenever he and Priest had some downtime and talked over a few beers. He never talked about it to get sympathy, just more than a matter of fact. Priest could relate to that as his own childhood was full of turmoil and strife. Having a violent drunk of a father, Priest understood Webb’s situation of home never being a sanctuary.

Webb and Priest made their way to the barracks where they were temporarily assigned. Since they were SPO and rapid deployment, the Army never really gave them a home on Fort Campbell. The barracks they stayed in were open bay style, like they had in boot camp.

They looked at each other and rolled their eyes as they approached the building. The rest of the team had already set up in the barracks, and Myles, Neville and Doc were already asleep. Shin was meditating, and Shaw was cleaning his M48.

Abarra met Webb and Priest halfway down the bay. “You guys finally finished?”

“Yeah, they raked us over the coals,” Webb said tiredly.

“You two look like shit.”