Mirrored Man: The Rob Tyler Chronicles Book 1 Read Online Free

shot off three or four more RPGs and I think I heard a
heavy machine gun open up. Now, I don't know how they took the
chopper down 'cause they couldn't hit the left cheek of my
grandmother's—”
    “Mule?” Rot interrupted.
    Sack cleared his throat. “Anyway, I wuz down
and one of the choppers wuz down but the other one worked just
fine. Them mini-guns wuz just a hummin'. They prob'ly waxed twenty
of the camel jockeys in the first two minutes. Dug 'em right outta
the rocks. The next thing I knew, there you were.”
    “Me?”
    “Yeah, you. You wuz standin' over me and the
hajjis wuz comin' in. Ya took 'em one, sometimes two, at a
time.”
    “I took 'em?” Rot asked skeptically.
    “You emptied every weapon ya had. Toward the
end, you wuz usin' just your bare hands. Nobody could believe the
sand rats committed like they did, but the Stalker’s terp said they
kept hollerin' 'bout takin' us hostage. Imagine that? You an' me,
guests of Ali Baba himself.” Sack shook his head. “You beat those
Pakkis down, man. Killed nine of 'em that I counted before the rest
ran off.” Sack shook his head again and smiled. “You really shook
the sh—” He caught himself. “You saved my life, brother. Probably
the lives of that Black Hawk crew, too.”
    Rot gave Sack a doubtful look. “C'mon.”
    Sack just stared back.
    Rot smiled. “How could I do all that and not
remember any of it?”
    “Training, brother. It's all about training,
skill, and desire.”
    Rot's smile faded. He could see flashes of
images but he couldn't remember doing any of the things that Sack
described.
    “There's more,” Sack said gravely.
    “What?”
    “The chopper pilot.” Sack made a distasteful
face. “I guess he's the sentimental type.”
    “Oh, please.”
    “He's puttin' ya in for a commendation.
After all the interviews wuz done, they gave ya credit for killin'
eleven of the turban heads. I still say it was nine, but who am I
to argue?”
    Rot's arms dropped to his sides, nearly
tipping the bowl over in his lap. SEALs weren't in it for the
money, the glory, or bragging rights. They were in it for love of
country and the brotherhood shared among teammates. Medal winners
were regarded as show boaters unless they were awarded
posthumously. But more than that, Rot was developing a
conscience.
    “What can I tell ya? He's an Army puke.”
Sack offered a half smile. “They’re talkin' Silver Star. Maybe even
the Navy Cross.”
    Rot hung his head. “Oh, no.”
    Sack pushed himself a bit closer. “No good
deed goes unpunished, brother.”
    Rot set the bowl down again on the table
next to the bed as he reflected on their mission. He was still
having a hard time taking it all in. An image of his wife drifted
in, a welcome interruption. He remembered a discussion that he and
Carol had had after his baptism, before they left Japan. She was
aware of what he did on his deployments. She knew he couldn't
discuss details with her, so she did her best to offer him some
encouragement.
    “Rob,” she had said softly, “if God doesn't
want you to kill, then it won't happen, regardless of your orders.”
Her head had then leaned softly on his chest. “But just remember,
David killed Goliath and many other men in the name of the Lord.”
Suddenly, he was thankful that he had no memory of the event.
    Sighing, he picked up the bowl and took
another spoonful.
    Why did I have to kill again?

2 Conundrum
27 August 2009
     
     
    HIS UNIFORM WAS khaki and smartly
pressed, his hands were held loosely at the small of his back, and
his burden was weighing heavily upon his soul. Captain Bernard
Walsh strolled through the hallways of the world's largest
building, the Pentagon. The fifty-year-old was small-framed but
sturdy and slight in stature, standing only five foot six. He had
been small for his age when he enlisted in the Navy at eighteen,
and the other recruits had spared no expense to make sure he knew
he was the runt of the litter. But it was his quiet