Chapter One

Jackson

Jackson Wolfe’s body radiated heat. His sweat was staining the sheets of his bed. He thrashed around in his bed violently. Even in his sleep, he knew that, once again, this would be a restless night for him.

Not again, he thought. Not the dream again...

***

Sergeant Dearden looked over at Wolfe as he drove. "Nice day for a drive, isn't it, sir?"

Captain Wolfe didn’t answer him. He just stared out the window.

Dearden cocked his head. “Hey, Six, is this thing on?” he asked, tapping the microphone on his headset. “I’m talking to you, Wolf Six. What’s the matter?”

Wolfe smiled briefly. Wolf Six was his call-sign on the radio, and as the leader of Wolf Squad, it was important that he maintain communication, even when he didn’t feel like it. “Your mic is fine, Sarge. And everything else is fine too. It’s always a fine day when you’re in the Army.”

"Damn straight," Dearden said, turning back to the road. "But, seriously, what's bothering you? I know you ain't got a girl back home, so it can't have been a 'Dear John' letter."

Wolfe looked at the desolate landscape. Afghanistan was a harsh place to live, but he had become quite familiar with it over the last few months. “The intel that we got today is bothering me. I got it from an unreliable source. Still, I can’t say why, but I expect trouble. I want you to be on your guard today.”

Dearden chuckled. “You know me, Cap’n. I’d never let anything happen to you or the other men.”

“I’m serious,” Wolfe said.

“I’ll let them know not to slack off today,” Dearden said. He was all business now. When Wolfe needed him to be, he was always the consummate professional.

Wolfe smiled as he looked back out the window. He heard Dearden’s voice go out on the radio, letting the men in the other vehicles know in code to be extra watchful today.

As they rolled up to the village of mud huts, Wolfe opened the door to the huge army vehicle that he was riding in. As he jumped out, though, he felt himself falling, falling, falling...

***

Falling all the way to the floor. Jackson screamed as he hit the ground, scrabbling for a place to find cover. A cold sweat coated his skin, and his breathing was heavy and quick. When he realized he was in his room, safe in the United States, he screamed again. At least the dream didn’t make it to its conclusion this time, but he knew in his heart that he’d never be able to leave those memories behind.

Those ghosts would haunt him forever.

He could see clearly, even in the dark, and he looked at his hands to make sure. Still human, he thought. This time.

The transformations were coming more frequently now, which made him glad that this time, he hadn’t transformed. That would simplify things, if only for tonight. He had a lot of things to figure out in his life, but here and now, he only had one thing on his mind.

As he felt his heart practically beat out of his chest, he looked at the clock. Zero two thirty. 2:30 AM. He knew he’d never make it back to sleep, and if he did, he’d just dream the dream again. He didn’t want to go there again. He wished he never had to go back there again.

He booted up an old laptop, the same one he had used during that fateful tour of duty. He spent the rest of the early morning hours looking at old pictures he had taken with an ancient digital camera, years ago now. There were pictures of camel spiders, of fields of opium, of beautiful sunsets. He skipped all of those. He might as well have deleted them, because he never looked at them anymore.

Tears welled up in his eyes, dripping down his face as he continued to scroll. He didn’t want to see his old tent, or vehicles, or even him smiling with the local Afghanis. He just looked at pictures of those nine brave men who lost their lives under his command.