Scars by Brian Andrews & Jeffrey Wilson

Author:Brian Andrews & Jeffrey Wilson
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2020-05-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

Al Asad Airbase

Anbar Province, Iraq

June 5

1010 Local Time

Kelso Jarvis kicked the door of the white Toyota Hilux closed with a booted foot and headed for the double doors of the low building that the Marines had converted into a Level II field surgical hospital, his mind on the SEAL inside. Hours ago, he’d watched the infrared silhouette of his newest Tier One SEAL squad leader with mixed feelings. Kemper’s rash decision to pursue Bin Jabbar seemed an obvious and serious breach, worthy of serious consequences. Jarvis knew the importance of teamwork and “team before self” as well as, or even better than, anyone, and he’d tossed men out of the Tier One for less egregious offenses.

But there was something about this Jack Kemper.

He ran over again in his head what he’d seen on the feed. Kemper had conducted the assault flawlessly at the beginning. When things took a terrible turn, he’d kept his tactical priorities, secured the building against remaining fighters and any who might join, checked on the other half of his team at the rear, prioritized security and CASEVAC, then coordinated with the TOC and with the perimeter Marines as he pursued the target who had slipped away.

I will protect my teammates and complete my mission.

Where had Kemper broken the promise demanded by the SEAL creed, really?

What hung with him, though, was the ruse—generated on the fly while surrounded by seven men bent on his death. In that moment, Kemper had thought to spin a tale, to calmly convince Bin Jabbar he was the front man of an overwhelming force. The gambit hadn’t worked, but it had been brilliant. Still, even that wasn’t what had impressed Jarvis. His amazement had come from the cool, calm, confident delivery of the lie—like a seasoned undercover operator working in a NOC.

Jarvis pushed through the left side of the double wooden doors leading to the foyer of the building occupied by the Marine Expeditionary Forces medical support battalion. Only he and a few others in the Tier One ever wore marked uniforms, and this was such a time. As a result, Marines and Sailors from the FSSG looked up to the rare sight of an O-6 with a trident on his chest strolling through their space. Many of them straightened up, nearly to attention, and he walked through a cloud of “Good morning, sirs,” requiring him to at least grunt a reply.

“Skipper?”

He turned to see Lieutenant Commander Mercer just inside an office, talking to one of the senior officers from the Shock Trauma Platoon.

“Just checking on our boy, Neal,” Jarvis said.

“Yeah,” Mercer said with a tone that suggested Kemper’s wounds should be the least of the new Tier One SEAL’s worries. “Well, the doc here says Kemper was lucky. Lots of muscle damage that will heal quickly, but no significant tendon damage, no long-term problems for the one artery that got damaged, and no nerve damage. He’ll head from here to Germany, then to Virginia Beach, and back to Tampa for intensive PT for a few months.

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