Page 38 of Holding the Line
Chapter Nine
Marsh prowled the infirmarylike a caged predator, jaw clenched, arms locked across his chest until his muscles throbbed.Eli lay in the bed before him, pale but breathing steady, the meds pulling him under.The image of Eli slumped in the gravel, blood seeping down his arm, face twisted in pain and fear—it was burned into Marsh’s skull.And, yeah, it made murder feel like a perfectly rational response.
Marsh had refused to leave his side.So now the whole damn debrief was happening here, under the sharp scent of antiseptic and the steady beeping of Eli’s monitor.
Across the room, Oren leaned his shoulder against the wall near the window, arms folded, eyes scanning the tree line beyond.Dale and Ty sat in chairs opposite him.
Ty’s face was unreadable, but his fists were clenched against his thighs, knuckles were white.“I froze,” he said suddenly.Quiet, bitter.“Back there.When the rifle came up—I didn’t move.Not until Eli shoved me.”
“You guarded him afterwards,” Oren said flatly, Texas twang just under the surface.“That counts.”
Ty looked over at him.“You didn’t hesitate.”
Oren slid his gaze from the window to Ty.“I might’ve left the Corps, but I didn’t leave my instincts behind.I see a threat, I take the shot.”
“That easy, huh?”Ty’s voice had an edge.
Oren’s gaze didn’t waver.“Sometimes it is.”
Ty let out a bitter breath.“You know, we all wore the uniform.We all did things in the name of orders, of country.I killed for mine.Over and over until the blood didn’t come off no matter how many times I washed my hands.And maybe I thought I could leave that behind.Be something else.Build instead of destroy.”
Oren raised an eyebrow.“You think that gets erased because you pick up a blueprint?”
Ty’s head snapped up.“I think I don’t know if I could pull a trigger again.That’s the truth.I don’t know if I could take another life, even if it meant saving one.”
Dale broke in.“Both of you need to give a little here.Eli’s alive.Let’s not turn this into a damn morality trial.”
Marsh stood frozen for a beat, his breath shallow, pulse thunderous in his ears.Every fiber of him was wound tight, too tight, like his body didn’t trust the calm in the room.Not when Eli had almost died.
He’d lived through war zones that didn’t shake him this hard—but seeing Eli hit, watching him bleed, had done something worse.It had split him open.
All of them were talking—morality, instincts, regret—but none of it mattered to him.Not when Eli’s blood was still fresh in his memory, not when the scent of gunfire still clung to his skin.
Marsh turned, voice low and sharp.“None of that matters in this moment.He fucking got shot.Never should have happened.”
They all went quiet.Even the monitors seemed to still for a beat.
“None of this should’ve reached the gate,” Marsh continued.“And it sure as hell shouldn’t have reached Eli.”
Ezra entered quietly, now in full tac gear, handgun at his hip.He glanced once at Eli, nodded in approval, then sat down in a chair close to the doorframe.
“I recognized one of them,” he said without preamble.“Not his name.But his face.He was with Van once.Years ago.Didn’t say much.Private sector op we got pulled into, to clean up a mess in Ukraine.Dirty, deniable shit.”
Bateman, leaning near the med station, looked up.“One of ours?”
Ezra shook his head.“Mercenary.The type that doesn’t exist on paper.But he had resources—gear, comms, training.Whoever the Colonel is pulling from, he’s not scraping the bottom of the barrel.These are top-tier ghosts with no flags.If they’re showing themselves, it’s because they’re getting paid to.”
Dale muttered, “And the Colonel has money.”