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He’d never gone to a family to deliver a death notification. This wasn’t the usual protocol, but Chase had pulled some strings. Reece had served under him since he’d strapped on his first pair of boots. The kid had been like a true younger brother. He’d been about to advance in rank before they’d lost him.
In his career in the United States Army, Brandon had lost people. But there had been more civilians who’d passed than soldiers. Far more deaths had happened back home due to illnesses and accidents than in war zones. Modern warfare was a different beast these days. Still dangerous, but with new tactics, casualties were down.
Private Cartwright should’ve still been here but for Brandon's hesitation. And now, he’d have to face the man’s family and tell them that Reece wasn’t coming home. But worse, they had no body to bury.
"There is nothing you could have done," said Chase.
They were alone on the plane now. Brandon’s arms were raised in the act of retrieving his duffle, but he hadn’t brought his belongings down to him. He’d just stood their frozen, lost in the memories and guilt.
“There is nothing any of us could have done,” Chase continued.
Brandon nodded, though he didn't believe the other man’s words. Just like they were all fine.
The walk through the terminal was blessedly quiet as the hustle and bustle of the airport whirled around them. Chase’s gaze remained alert as his eyes darted here and there. The instinct to look for threats would never leave any of them.
Ortega’s dimples were hidden behind a stern look as he gripped his bag with one hand and balled his fist with the other. Sweat threaded his dark brow. Walking in civilian areas were always the hardest. It was always possible that a threat could materialize out of a child or a woman.
Finally, they made it to the glass doors that spilled out into warm Montana sunshine. The landscape had been breathtaking from the air. It reminded Brandon of the beauty of Afghanistan.
The middle eastern land was a beautiful oxymoron. Filled with demanding deserts as well as lush valleys. Tall mountains and stunning cities. It wasn't until driving through the human settlements that the ugly underside was revealed. Bombed historic sights, toppled monuments, and decrepit homes where civilians hid, trying to carve out a semblance of life.
Back on U.S. soil, the buildings he could see from the airport were all intact. Cars made their way down the streets with little to no obstruction. Pedestrians walked without a care.
Standing on a curb, a man held up a sign with all three of their names on it. He didn’t wear fatigues. He didn’t need to. That he was a soldier was clear in the way he stood and the seriousness of his features.
Chase stuck out his hand. "Good to see you again, Sergeant Banks.”
“You too, Sergeant Chase.”
The two men clasped hands. Dylan Banks held on a moment longer. Chase took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was the most emotion Brandon had ever seen the Terminator display.
"You didn't have to come all this way," said Chase after he released his friend’s grip.
"It's my honor," said Dylan. "We're all excited to have you at the ranch.”
“I’m excited to see what you’ve built.”
Dylan nodded with clear pride. “You'll find a state-of-the-art rehabilitation center. Everything from horseback riding to strengthen injured or missing limbs, gardening to increase the dexterity of injured fingers or improve hand-eye coordination. We even have a therapist. The Purple Heart Ranch treats both external and internal wounds.”
Brandon frowned at that. He'd accepted the invitation to stay at the ranch for a short duration of time. More of a decompression time before he made his way back into civilian life if, in fact, that was the route he was going to take. He was still leaning more toward re-enlisting and redeploying.
He couldn’t deny he needed a few weeks of R&R. But Chase had said nothing about internal healing. He was fine. They all were.
Ortega looked to have the same sentiment. But both Ortega and Brandon held their tongues out of respect for the men of superior rank. Chase would get an earful later.
"We'll head out now then," said Dylan.
"We do have to make one stop,” Brandon spoke up for the first time.
"Oh, don’t worry,” Dylan chuckled. “There’s plenty of food waiting for you.”
"No," said Brandon. “We need to notify a family." He didn’t need to elaborate.
Dylan’s face sobered in understanding. "Here in the city?"
Chase nodded. "Yes, for Reece Cartwright."
Dylan winced.
