Page 131 of Severed Heart

“Done,” he says.

“I’ve got my own caveat,” I add.

“Of course you do,” he replies, his smirk growing.

I nod toward his desk. “You destroy that file, and anything else with my name attached, the second I complete this last mission.”

“That’s not even necessary,” he states, “you know we protect our—”

“Sure you do, but it’s necessary forme. Not a trace, Phillip.”

Gazes locked because our relationship just shifted, a pregnant pause ensues before he finally speaks.

“Understood.”

I nod. “Where am I going?”

His dimming expression tells me all I need to know.

BLINK.

Armstrong’s eyes start to glaze over from where he lays propped in my lap as the medics’ glove-covered, splayed palms hover over him for a few weighted seconds. Shoulders inching down in defeat, he finally withdraws, sitting back and giving me a grim nod, the verdict clear in his eyes. I subtly nod back just as the chopper shifts direction, putting more safe space between us and our extraction point.

“Tell me something ... Jennings,” Armstrong rasps out as dawn begins to light the skies, the steadythwomp, thwomp, thwompof the hawk’s blades muting his words before I lean in to catch every last one. The truth of that has the sting increasing in my chest.

“What’s that?”

“Where do you go?” he asks as I stretch my upper half a little further to fully meet his eyes.

“This is what you want to talk about right now?” I ask, our hands fisted together atop his chest, several safe inches above the mortal shot he took to the gut.

“Yeah ... seven missions together, and I never could bring myself to ask, but I want to know.” He coughs. Hearing the telling rattle inside it, I curse the fact that I couldn’t get to him while guilt starts to set in.

“Eight,” I correct. “Stop talking, save your strength. You’ve got a lot of recovery ahead of you.”

“The only place I’m go-ing today, brother, is h-heaven,” he wheezes, and I hesitate briefly before nodding in resignation. Armstrong’s always been an unapologetic man of faith, kissing his dog tags and praying before our boots touch the ground. We’ve spent many idle hours in wait perched together in varying terrain, at times talking about all things religion, philosophy, and the world. Sharing beers after hellish days and endless close calls. The truth of how close we’ve become hits hard, along with a painful wave of awareness that I’m the reason he’s speaking his last words—taking his last breaths. Because I’m the one who summoned him for this mission.

“Do you have any messages for me?” I ask.

“When you love the people in your life the way you’re supposed to, no messages are necessary.”

“As if you’re such a saint.” I wink. “Smug bastard.”

“Smug bastard I may be, but I rest easy knowing I did right by them. They know,” he wheezes again. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry, man.” I grip his hand tightly. “Please try to hold on.”

“Hell no, I’m running to that better place. You all can have this one,” he coughs again, and I can tell he’s fading. He has a minute at most. “Tell me, brother,” he prompts, “where do you go?”

I stare down at him as he gives me his ‘no bullshit’ return stare and says as much. “You know what the hell I’m asking. You look, move, and dole out orderslike you, but you aren’t reallythere.It’s inyour eyes. They’re like a wall of metal when you check out.”

I furrow my brows, uncomfortable with the question, as he squeezes my hand, a sign that he’s running out of time and wants the answer. Staring down at him, I try to muster a way to describe my mentality when I blink to black.

“It’s more likechecking inwhile detaching from all emotional decision-making.” I concentrate hard on what sticks out most. “Keeping the notion of right or wrong while dialing in on the most basic survival instincts to complete the mission by any means necessary.” It’s a state of clarity that’s nearly impossible to describe, but for my friend, I try. “I become hyperaware of sight and sound. All of my senses magnify tenfold, as well as my adrenaline.”

“You moved like fucking lightning to try and get to me... I saw it.”

“Not fast enough,” I grit out, the apology evident in my voice.