Bastian took his father’s advice to heart and became a walking talking ammo factory.
He would produce clips out of every pocket of his utility vest and more than once in the last nine months had saved my life, as well as others.
“Someone has to balance out the intensity you exude Gabe. Seriously, I think the name the boys gave you is fucking spot on, you go storming into everything like an armoured tank,” Bastian taunted, making me grimace. Nicknames were a part of army life, hell I grew up in a life where most of the men had one. The need for one never appealed to me however, but for some idiotic reason, the men of my company came up with the call sign of Tank for me.
So, what if I stormed into every situation? My ability to think on my feet meant I never went in without a plan. My end goal was to come out alive and everyone that followed me, living was always my highest priority.
“Don’t fucking start with the Tank shit, I swear to Christ I will knock you out for putting that shit out there,” I growled at Bastian. The one thing I never wanted was a nickname, call me either Gabe or Gabriel I didn’t care which. With any luck the name Tank would not follow me later in life.
“You could try mate, but you and I both know who will be the winner. Unless of course you use your knife then I am shit out of luck.” Bastian conceded the last point with a smirk. Other than my strategic abilities, my hand to hand combat skills with a weapon were equally good.
“Maybe you should have named me Slash instead,” I said hopefully, now that one I could live with at least.
“Oh, Aunt Stells would just love that! Explaining that her baby boy got off using his knife on the enemy would go down really well,” Bastian scoffed with a roll of his eyes.
“Once, Sebastian, I cut a man once and it was to save your arse if you remember correctly.” The memory of six months ago when Bastian pulled a rookie move and forgot to check behind a door before entering a hut. Had I not been behind him we would have sent him home in a pine box, destroying his parents and sister for the rest of their lives.
Bastian glared at me, his blue eyes darkening at the memory. “I know mate, I know,” he agreed quietly. A soldier didn’t like to be reminded of a failure, especially one that should not have happened. The main thing was though he learnt from it, and never made the same mistake since. Our last raid on an insurgent camp, he made sure to apply his training and we came out alive, all of us.
Clapping my hands together loudly, I deliberately changed the tone of the sudden darker mood. “Let’s go pack, mate, it’s nearly time to get out of this hell hole and go do what we were born to do,” I yelled out excitedly.
“Fucking oath my man, time for the Wounded Sons to show what they are capable of,” Bastian matched my enthusiasm with a yell of his own.
Smirking at him, I raised my eyebrows. “Wounded Sons hey? I haven’t heard that since we were in primary school and we tried to start up our own club with Cole and Dane,” I said with a chuckle.
“Yeah right, remember Zander and squirt thought we were disrespecting the club and banned us from hanging with them for a whole week.”
Laughing again, I gave Bastian a slap on the back and started to walk towards our bunk house. “Yes, and I also remember that week we never got grounded once and those two suffered the wrath of the parents for that stupid stunt when Zander tied Shiloh to the swing.”
Bastian’s booming laughter echoed through the maze of buildings. “Can’t believe they are going to be parents in a matter of weeks,” he said with a shake of his head.
“Tell me about it. I don’t know what is worse, Zander all alpha with a daughter or Shiloh introducing her kid to fucking Tour of Duty,” I groaned at the amount of times I sat through that bloody show. All of us kids had no choice but to watch it, we were too scared not to, mainly because she used her ghost bodyguard, Darth, against us. How were we to know at the age of five a ghost couldn’t really tie us up and throw us out of a moving car?
Bastian groaned too, but the smile on his face told a different story. He was itching to be an uncle, and couldn’t wait for his big sister to become a mum.
“I don’t know about you mate, but I am so ready to kick some selection arse,” he yelled, slamming his way into the bunkhouse door.
“Fuck yeah, commando team here we come!”
CHAPTER TWO
GABRIEL
Commando Selection Training
“Booth, Johnston, you both made it through. Tomorrow you leave for SFTC, the next stage of the reinforcement cycle.” The voice of our Sargant Major boomed through the barracks, making us jump to attention.
“Sir, yes, Sir,” we both answered at the same time, in precise unison.
“This does not mean you have made it, but it does mean out of seventy-five applicants over all those months ago, you are two of twenty left. There is a long road still ahead. But let me say the skills both of you have shown during selection and the first part of the reinforcement I have rarely seen two better personnel with better precision, adaptable abilities and self-preservation attributes than either of you.”
My chest swelled as I stood there stoic and at attention, careful not to let my pride show.
“Thank you, Sir,” Bastian and I both clipped again.
The Major turned and started to walk out of the nearly empty barracks, then stopped and stood to face us again.
“The last time was a long time ago when six men stood where you are now, six men that eventually formed the best damn commando team this country has ever seen. I believe you know five of those men very well. I was sorry to hear of Darth’s passing, he was a good mate back in the day,” Major’s face clouded over for a brief second, giving respect to a fallen brother. “Vincent Booth, Deck Johnston, Mannix and Cooper Steel and Creed Stephens were soldiers I never thought we would see the likes of again. Glad to see I was wrong, carry on men, tomorrow you begin Urban Assault operations, I expect you both to pass, clear?”
“Yes, Sir!”
I waited until he disappeared before relaxing my stance, but remained standing while Bastian unceremoniously threw himself down on his bunk.
“Fuck, mate, I am so fucking tired, months and months of this, and we’ve still got another few weeks to go,” Bastian said with a groan, his big arm thrown over his face muffling his words.
I ignored the protest of my muscles as I slid down the wood pillar in front of Bastian’s bed to the floor.
“Yeah, I know what you mean, all I keep thinking about is that green beret and the pain and aches mean shit.”
“Without warning,” Bastian said, giving me the moto of the 2nd Commando Regiment as his answer. We knew that after everything was said and done and the coveted green beret was ours we would be assigned to the 2nd Team for at least our first year. After that, the goal was to apply to join Team Five.
Our fathers’ old team.
“Trust, Honour and Loyalty brother,” I replied firmly. Knowing in my heart that I was going to end up following in my father’s footsteps, and one day lead Team Five. Failure to do so was not an option.
I pressed the phone closer to my ear, and moved a bit further away from the celebration going on in the barracks.
“Booth,” the deep voice said as soon as the call picked up.
“Really? No shit, my name is Booth too,” I answered jovially with the same comeback I came up with when I was fifteen and dad gave me my first mobile phone.
“Your name is Gabriel, and you are a pain in my arse boy,” dad said laughing at me.
My old man had a thing about my first name; he loved it. The story behind my name; a tale my parents told me so many times when I was little. About my dramatic entry into this world, the near loss of mum during that time, and the help from Darth, my dad was convinced happened even though he was no longer alive.
“Why are you calling me, it’s not a good time right now, son.”
Why it wasn’t a good time? I wasn’t going to ask. Not if the answer had anything to do with a bed and my
mother.
“Oh god, will you shut up and listen old man,” I grumbled, pressing my hand to my forehead and praying for patience.
“Booth baby, is that Gabriel?” my mother’s sweet voice came through all soft and sleepy.
“Yeah honey, Gabe you are on speaker-phone,” dad told me.
“My baby boy! Are you okay, are you safe? Is Bastian keeping himself out of trouble?” Mum fired off each question one after the other, not giving me time to answer, which I didn’t because I knew she wasn’t finished. “Did you get the photos of Juliet? What about my care packages? Should I send more underwear?” One question after another, my mum didn’t give me any chance to answer them.
She needed to do this, being the only child of the president and the queen of the Wounded Souls, I’d enjoyed a life of being spoilt by my parents. Mum doted on me, all my life I had felt nothing but love and security.
“Ma, calm down. Yes, I got the photos, she is absolutely adorable, I can’t wait to meet her. Bastian is one proud uncle, we both are, how is Zander coping with having a daughter?”
A rumbling laugh from my dad told me all I needed to know, but he shared anyway.
“It is fucking hilarious. He keeps a bottle of sanitiser in his cut pocket, makes everyone use it before coming near Juliet. But, the real kicker is Deck, the man is completely besotted with his granddaughter. Shiloh often finds her missing from her cot, the first time she panicked she ran through the compound screaming bloody murder.” Dad’s chuckle was joined by a giggle from my mum. “Oh Gabe, you should have seen her face when she discovered Deck sitting outside at the playground with Juliet bundled in his arms, cooing to her. Zander has threatened to put a tracker on the baby so they know when Deck has taken her from her room,” mum finished the story, mainly because my dad was still laughing his arse off.
In my mind I could see a visual of my uncle sneaking in and whisking away his grandchild, his huge body daring anyone to stop him.
“Sounds like good times,” I replied wistfully, missing the life at the compound. Growing up a Souls’ kid hadn’t been easy all the time, kids wanting to be invited to club parties, desperate to be part of an MC. Those times were fortunately less frequent than the good, my childhood gave me the best platform to become an even better person.
“You okay Gabe?” dad asked suddenly, his voice now serious.
“I got it dad,” I said simply, knowing that was all was needed for him to understand. In the back pocket of my utility pants was the coveted green beret, a silver stiletto knife featured on the stitched-on badge, indicating the 2nd regiment with which I was now a member.
A thick silence descended over the line, the only sound was a heavy intake of breath from dad and a small nearly inaudible sob from mum.
“Trust, Honour, Respect,” dad said on a choked rasp, “it’s your time now Gabe, do what you need to do, do it the best you can. Lead with your head and listen to your gut, and always come home to us son.”
“I will, I promise,” I answered quietly, not caring about the sting of tears swelling in my eyes.
“So, fucking proud of you son. You are the greatest achievement of my life, always remember that.”
The line then went dead, but I wasn’t upset or pissed that he’d hung up. My father kept his emotions wrapped tight, his life in the army and the MC dictated that as a necessity. My mum, Shiloh and I were the only ones he let in without restriction.
Taking the phone from my ear, I looked over at the party going on and smiled big.
I fucking did it!
CHAPTER THREE
GABRIEL
SEVEN YEARS LATER
“Jesus fucking Christ! If my fucking beeper goes off in the next twenty-four hours I might kill someone,” Bastian growled the minute we disembarked the S-70 helicopter. I waited until the last man had gotten off before I let my feet hit the tarmac, the familiar wash of relief and pride flowing through me, knowing all my men were safe and currently walking towards the gate that led to the airfields main building.
Timor was not the most pleasant place to have spent the last three months. The oppressive heat, and high humidity did not go hand in hand with forty kilos of equipment carried on our backs. Ducking my head, I hurried to catch up with Bastian, the cooling afternoon breeze a welcome relief, indicating that winter wasn’t far away.
“When was the last time we had winter at home?” I asked no one in particular.
“Three years ago,” Deke, my signal operator answered immediately. Deke joined my team six years ago, the same year I made rank of 2nd Lieutenant. Three years after that I was given my own team, Commando Team FIVE. The best fucking year of my life, my own team and the rank of Captain. I took Bastian and Deke with me, along with four of the best soldiers I trusted to have my back. For the last three years, we had basically been given the freedom to choose any assignment. We were the best in our fields of expertise, I made sure of that when selecting the six men. Bastian was a given, as was Cole Stephens, another Souls’ kid, and basically my cousin. Cole was a few years younger than me and had taken a little longer to go through the commando selection. Unlike Bastian and I, who couldn’t wait to apply for entry, Cole wanted to have a few more tours under his belt before undergoing the selection process. As soon as he completed his first year as a fully-fledged commando, I plunked him up to join Team FIVE, with the rank of 2nd LT. Private Deke Williams, call sign Signal… okay, not the most imaginative name, but I wasn’t big on nicknames neither coming up with them.
Lance Corporal’s Rafferty Walsh, or Rafe, and Marshall Webber whom we called Grill, and Corporal Kodah Ziggerman and I made up the team. And yeah, Kodah would have gotten the nickname Ziggy, but his first name was cool enough, plus he hated the shortened version of his surname.
Bastian, Cole and I were the only commissioned officers in the team; the others were Other Ranks or ORs. The highest rank they could achieve was sergeant major, which took a lot of years of service to attain. Bastian was my LT, second in command, he could have been a captain like me by now, but he had an anger problem that got him into trouble with the commanding officers. His skills as a soldier and commando too valuable to the army which was why he was here on the team and not in a prison doing time for insubordination, fighting and generally being a dick. I was another reason for keeping him out of the brig, I lost count the amount of times I bailed him out of situations a normal OR solider would do time for otherwise. Bastian Johnston was the best hand to hand combat soldier, the first to risk his life in battle, and the man that had my back no matter the danger facing us. No way in hell would I leave Australian soil without him.
These six men, my mates, made up Team FIVE also known as the Wounded Sons.
We had free reign, followed little to no rules, and were handed the jobs no one else could carry out or wanted. Trained to do anything necessary; to carry out extractions, demolitions, hunting down insurgents, and if deemed necessary… to kill. We were a Tier 1 special forces unit, one tasked with direct and deadly action.
“Fuck, I need a beer, a bed and a warm willing female,” Deke grunted tiredly, his head turning from one shoulder to the other in an attempt to work out the kinks from the two flights it took to get back to Swan Island, just outside of the seaside town of Queenscliff.
Ordinarily a commando team was based at the Holsworthy Barracks, in Sydney. But, as our reputation for doing anything anytime anyplace was held in such high esteem, the powers to be allowed us to be closer to our hometown of Ballarat during our downtime. We purchased a block of town houses not far from the Australian Defence Force building at the end of Swan Island, an isolated area where the ADF was responsible for the defence of our great country. The facility housed many sectors of the military, including the RAAF, the RAN and Army Reservists 1st Commando reg. The place was a training place for those soldiers that weren’t full-time, who had civilian jobs. When my team wasn’t on deployment or back with our families, we helped the instructors with training exercises.
/> “Oh god, my feet are so scungy. I think I’d rather the sandbox to the humidity of the jungle,” Bastian declared, which earned a groan from each of us.
“Good one, Sebastian, you just jinxed the team’s next call-up. If we head back to the desert, I will knock you the fuck out,” Kodah complained as we reached the shuttle bus that was here to drive us to our housing.
Bastian snorted out a laugh at the same time throwing his rucksack into the cargo area of the bus. “You can give it your best shot big man, but I will win and you know it.” The reply from my best friend was not bragging, he was simply stating the truth. No one in eight years had come close to hurting Bastian, let alone knock him out, his build alone was daunting; the power behind it nothing short of phenomenal.
I, myself, was not a small man, I stood close to six-foot-four, and had a decent amount of muscle; but even I learned a long time ago not to get into the ring with Sebastian Johnston. He was the same height as me, but at one hundred and sixty kilograms of nothing but muscles with hands the size of hams, I knew my limitations.
Deciding to change the subject, I leaned over my mate and threw my bag into the compartment.
“You going home straight away?” I asked him.
“Yeah, just going to shower and grab some grub, then drive back to the Rat. Shiloh’s party is this weekend don’t forget mate.”
“I haven’t forgotten dickhead, how could I when you remind me every hour on the hour,” I joked. Shiloh was throwing a club party to celebrate her fourth year as president of the club which also coincided with her daughter’s seventh birthday.
Gabriel (The Wounded Sons Book 1) Page 2
