After serving his country overseas for a decade, being in Iraq and Afghanistan during active war, 𝐔𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐬. Staff Sergeant Nathan Grimes finds himself on the front lines yet again. This time however, was diff...
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The sun over Camp Lejeune didn't rise so much as it attacked, beating down on the North Carolina earth like it had a personal grudge.
Gunnery Sergeant Nathan Grimes barely noticed. He was too focused on the dusty horizon, scanning it as his squad moved through the final leg of their live-fire maneuver drill.
His voice cut through the roar of gunfire. "Bravo team, tighten your spread! Mendoza, quit drifting left — you're not dancing!"
"Copy that."
A short laugh crackled over the radio, followed by Fischer's voice: "But if he was dancing, I'd rate it a three outta ten. Tops."
Nathan smirked. The guy never missed a beat.
Danny — Staff Sergeant Daniel Fischer — had been his right hand since boot. Sniper. Smartass. Brother in every way but blood. They'd enlisted together straight out of high school, survived two tours, three breakups, and one unforgettable bar brawl in Okinawa. Ten years in, and Nate still trusted Danny with his life more than anyone else.
Final shots rang out. The all-clear whistle blew.
"Drill complete," the range officer barked. "Stand down and safe your weapons."
The Marines regrouped in the staging area, tension bleeding out into heat-slicked humor.
"Fischer, you actually hit something today, or was that wind doing you a favor?" Miller teased, pulling off his helmet.
Danny popped the mag from his rifle with practiced ease. "I don't need favors, man. I could shoot the fleas off a squirrel's ass from half a mile out. With a hangover."
"Too bad you can't shoot a clean shave," Tommy quipped, eyeing Danny's five o'clock shadow.
"It's called rugged charm," Danny replied, rubbing his jaw. "You'd know nothing about that, Private Baby Face."
Nathan peeled off his gloves, chuckling. "Can't believe I survived two deployments just to listen to this garbage."
