Page 47 of Broken Oath

Daniel “Ghost” Mercer.

Noah “Viking” Kane.

Luke “Tex” Morgan.

Andrew “Ridge” Lawson.

Matthew “Bishop” Grant.

One after another.

Six brothers carried beneath six American flags.

Rook’s hands curled into fists.

He had led them onto that mountain.

He had ordered them forward.

He had watched them die.

Now he had to hide while strangers carried them to their graves.

The chaplain began speaking.

Wind and rain stole most of the words.

Rook didn’t need to hear them.

He knew what would be said.

Duty.

Courage.

Sacrifice.

Honor.

Words that were true but too small.

No speech could explain the way Hammer’s laughter had filled a helicopter.

No folded flag could show how Ghost always took the most dangerous position without being asked.

No medal could capture Viking’s crooked grin when he knew he was about to say something inappropriate.

No rifle salute could tell Tex’s daughter how many times her father had taken out her photograph during a deployment.

No headstone could explain how Ridge had walked toward an explosion so his brothers could escape.

No official citation could describe Bishop standing alone behind a machine gun while an army descended on him.

The world would remember how they died.

Rook would remember how they lived.

The chaplain stepped away.